The Heart ask Pleasure, first
And then, excuse from Pain,
And then, those little Anodynes
That deaden suffering,
And then, to go to sleep,
And then, if it should be
The will of it’s Inquisitor
The privilege to die.
…………………………….
She rose to His Requerument, dropt
The Playthings of Her life
To take the honorale Word
Of Woman, and of Wife
If ought She missed in Her new Day,
Of Amplitude, or Awe,
Or first Prospective, or the Gold
In using, wear away,
It lay unmentioned, as the sea
Develope Pearl, and Weed,
But only to Himself, be known
The Fathoms they abide.
