Hand Or Mouth

This, then, is pleasure's bower,

Where everything can please;

Her cushions are of silk,

She plays on ivory keys.

She gives her hand to kiss,

Before I leave her bower:

'I thank you, pretty one,

for this light hour.'

Out in the garden now

Young Joy sits alone;

The cushion she sits on

Is nothing but a stone;

Her naked lips are all

The music she can play;

She gives her mouth to kiss-

Sweet Joy, I stay!