T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
Flora
Mediæval Latin Students Songs(From Wine, Women and Song. Translated by John Addington Symonds) |
RUDELY blows the winter blast, | |
Withered leaves are falling fast, | |
Cold hath hushed the birds at last. | |
While the heavens were warm and glowing | |
Nature’s offspring loved in May; | 5 |
But man’s heart no debt is owing | |
To such change of month or day | |
As the dumb brute-beasts obey. | |
Oh, the joys of this possessing! | |
How unspeakable the blessing | 10 |
That my Flora yields to-day! | |
Labour long I did not rue, | |
Ere I won my wages due, | |
And the prize I played for drew. | |
Flora with her brows of laughter, | 15 |
Gazing on me, breathing bliss, | |
Draws my yearning spirit after, | |
Sucks my soul forth in a kiss: | |
Where’s the pastime matched with this? | |
Oh, the joys of this possessing! | 20 |
How unspeakable the blessing | |
Of my Flora’s loveliness! | |
Truly mine is no harsh doom, | |
While in this secluded room | |
Venus lights for me the gloom! | 25 |
Flora faultless as a blossom | |
Bares her smooth limbs for mine eyes; | |
Softly shines her virgin bosom, | |
And the breasts that gently rise | |
Like the hills of Paradise. | 30 |
Oh, the joys of this possessing! | |
How unspeakable the blessing | |
When my Flora is the prize! | |
From her tender breasts decline, | |
In a gradual curving line, | 35 |
Flanks like swansdown white and fine. | |
On her skin the touch discerneth | |
Naught of rough; ’tis soft as snow: | |
’Neath the waist her belly turneth | |
Unto fulness, where below | 40 |
In Love’s garden lilies blow. | |
Oh, the joys of this possessing! | |
How unspeakable the blessing! | |
Sweetest sweets from Flora flow! | |
Ah! should Jove but find my fair, | 45 |
He would fall in love, I swear, | |
And to his old tricks repair: | |
In a cloud of gold descending | |
As on Danae’s brazen tower, | |
Or the sturdy bull’s back bending, | 50 |
Or would veil his godhood’s power | |
In a swan’s form for one hour. | |
Oh, the joys of this possessing! | |
How unspeakable the blessing! | |
How divine my Flora’s flower! | 55 |