Verse > Anthologies > T. R. Smith, ed. > Poetica Erotica: A Collection of Rare and Curious Amatory Verse
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T. R. Smith, comp.  Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse.  1921–22.
 
The Wonderful Grot
Anonymous
 
(From New Crazy Tales, 1783)

BENEATH a chalky cliff is found,
Nor in the air, nor on the ground
A Grot! There Cupid keeps his court.
There Venus and her nymphs resort.
Close shaded, it on pillars stands;        5
Pillars ne’er raised by mortal hands,
No marble can so polished show,
Whiter they than alpine snow,
From hence proceeds a magic dew,
That gives all things a glossy line        10
To glittering stars it gives their birth,
With dewy gems it spangles earth,
When that the precious nectar flows.
 
Sporting beneath fond zephyr glows.
On his glad wings aloft it flies,        15
And soaring twinkles o’er the skies.
O would it but unveil its face,
And with new light our dull world grace.
Deserted Sol would cease to shine,
Extinguished in a blaze divine.        20
O thither would the wanton tend,
And make that point his journey’s end.
There would he revel, balk, and joy,
’Mongst blooming sweets that never cloy.
O ’tis so sweet, so mild, so gay,        25
As Autumn ripe, as wild as May.
’Tis sweeter than the flowers in June,
The saddest heart would put in tune.
Then sportive kids, than fauns, more gay:
The Gods themselves with it will play.        30
Than infants hushed it is more wild,
Yet sometimes pouting like a child;
And angry swells into a pet,
If it too scant allowance get;
And fondly mounting seems to say,        35
Ah, why my dear this long delay?
Most strange it is, a thing so wild,
Should choose a mate than storms more wild.
No barrier can his rage withhold,
As tigers fierce, as lions bold;        40
And let him have his head-strong way,
Like forward infants tired with play,
When of his wish he’s quite possest
He’ll nodding, sobbing, soundly rest.
He’s of the gamesome merry kind,        45
But various like the changing wind.
His body’s of a snowy line,
Neatly diversified with blue:
He’s soft as silk, as hot as fire:
His very touch makes belles expire.        50
 
But, lo! he comes all blushing red,
As Phoebus hastes to Thetis’ bed.
To meet, she obvious fain would go,
And speaks his welcome in dumb show:
And be he great, or be he small,        55
With eager love she clasps him all.
She greets him round with balmy kisses,
Fondly excites transporting blisses.
    How close she presses,
    Hugs and caresses:        60
To her he sighs his tender fears,
And, doomed to part, burst out in tears.
 
 
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