Rain, Love’s seducer

• I delight to sprint in the sudden rain,
And watch it light on a blooming face, fair
Of a buxom young girl, surfeit with the pride
Of her unconquerable power to ensnare,
Two young libertines with passions unleashed
Admirably forward in exploring the ways
Of sipping sweet nectar from her lovely parting lips
Is it not thus, that wanton love plays?
Ardently did the twain stroke her cheeks
And caress her with languid desire;
Her eyes, shone with the ecstasy of youth,
Every raindrop her cheeks set on fire
I sat beside a bubbling, tripping brook
Whence I could watch Love’s sensuous game
Though I was not ugly, I had no allure,
And was, in the rare embrace of love, very tame.
I would envy loveliness in divers girls;
but neither that nor a curse would, avail,
For, notwithstanding a plain one’s imprecations,
It’s the beautiful who will, in this game, prevail.
But of course, despite everything that one knew,
The raindrops does rouse a young heart’s amours,
And wantonly plants the plain one, anew
With the seeds of panting passion’s clamours.
Thus, is rain called, the god of eternal love
Whose antics are diverted by Cupid, up above.

Has anyone seen a benevolent heart,*********************
Or indeed, any heart at all?
Do they sell the like, in a kid’s toy mart
As they sometimes a flaxen doll?
But a benevolent heart must beautiful look,
For, it is full of wondrous compassion,
‘Cause so is it said in all good books,
Without any adornment of fashion.
But why is a benevolent heart applauded
What beauties or virtues has it stored,?
And even if it had , what use would be added
To the perfect heart beats that each has scored?.
Fools there be, in this world of ours,
Whose imaginations stray into chests with locks
And can prize a heart only in the interminable hours,
That it beats in a live chest, like cuckoo clocks.
But is not benevolence, itself the gracious thing,
Whose beauties unfortunately can’t be seen,
Though its generosity, makes the heart where it rests,
Glorified and an exalted place to be in..
To prove the raptures of the heart where it’s been.
But when the heart where it bides, ceases to beat.
Wherefore does the beauty of benevolence lie?
And from whence does it gather its future treasures
And must every heart, without it die?
Does every heart that beats without it, die?
And is it this which is called life’s hearty beat?
Not in the manner in which it’s adored,
For benevolence can reside anywhere it may,
It’s like a will-o-the-wisp, that cannot be stored ,
It merely loves to give all it can, and has, away.
For is not it the keenest pleasure to give,
Does not the heart feel the enthralling joy of it?
For let the pernicious miser but know to believe,
The enchantment it affords to part with a trifling bit,
Well being and prosperous health shall retrieve
For in that gentle gesture of generosity lies,
A world of soothed nerves and thriving times


thin their ken,

Nor cared a whit for their disport’s shame
They had bright eyes that were taught to seek
Where the most ravishing treasures lay,
They knew to sip from her willing lips
On this pretty little temptress’ day.
I heard the loud clamour of kissing lips,
Echoing around hills and dales;
And saw them clasp her to their breasts,
Unmindful of tempest or gales
I was wholly as plain and haggard of face,
As only a whimsical caprice could bestow
A sallow, ill featured countenance was it
Which no benevolent nature could restore.
Even in my earliest, infant hours,
My beautiful mother would say
I would look upon the world at large
In a singularly provoking way.
She loved me dearly, most tenderly so’
For her heart Oh, so kindly disposed:
She fed and clothed me with solicitous care
While In her arms I tranquilly reposed.
But never an embrace to her breast knew I,
Nor her lips bending softly on mine
So sundered felt I though most she loved
Like an angel in a fairy tale divine.
When I had seen all of summers sixteen me, who beheld me pass
Or shuddered if my face they descried.
More unbecoming features there never were seen
I was affrighted by a looking glass
My witch like chin, or my freckled nose;
And a squint that loveliness mars.
I must now cease this dissertation vain,
For avail has it none to succour
Were ever words writ on a woman’s blemish,
Which a captious reader might ignore?
I returned to the rain freshened garden anew
With a firm resolution to bedew;
My nature scarred, destiny’s cruel assaults,
With heaven’s own raindrops new.

Into the lone shrubbery, there now rode in,
A handsome, fair youth astride
A stallion, smooth and dazzling skinned
And looks of exulting pride.
His eye lit on my timid form
And slowly raised its brow,
It perhaps had never fallen upon
A figure as he looked on now.
He neither laughed nor shook his head,
Having stared at my figure awhile
But turned his horse and sped away,
Through his way back, every mile.
Spellbound still and struck with awe,
At the magnificent scene just past;
I sat forlorn on a boulder close by,
Brooding on my misadventure, aghast.
For unwittingly had I been smitten in love
With the wondrous Adonis I espied.
Then recalling with envy the beauteous girl,
And her delicious effrontery, I sighed.
Has ever an uncomely face like mine,
Longed for the privilege to be admired?
Except by a loathsome creature alike,
Whom a worse destiny may have sired.
How preposterous is mischievous fate,
That fills a chaste heart with love
That thoughtless imp, that truant goblin
Who directs each affair from above.
That heart he fills with nectar sweet love,
Which beats beneath a figure uncouth;
While a lovely face captivating as a rose
May betrays a faithless heart forsooth.
Every heart that beats is designed for love,
And in the spring’s temperate bowers
There grows in abundant profusion
A cascade of fragrant flowers.
Next morning, I went, as was my wont
Into a solitary lane for thought;
I admired each exquisite flower and bud,
Which nature had enchantingly wrought.
But likewise I touched every weed and thorn
That nestling in the startling beauty lay .
And stooped and stroked each one alike;
With a distressed sensation’s dismay.
And so it came to happen by me
With my loathsome demeanour, coarse,
My passionate devotion unrequited lay
Which never could be woken with remorse.
I still am enthralled by the shiny raindrops,
Fall like rhapsody on enchanting blooms
Or look at the new love cooing pairs,
And dalliance in their vibrant plumes.

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