BORN ON THE BLUE AEGEAN
LOWN, all alone, o’er the watery miles;
Lost, I was tossed on those grape-laden isles,
Where, passing fair in her dimpling smiles,
Played a sweet maid in the waters so bright;
Chilled, yet I thrilled at the ravishing sight;
Sped to her, fled to her, wild with delight.
Soft, from aloft, sweet Cytherea sings;
Dove-drawn, the love goddess artfully flings
Spells, as she tells of the rapture she brings.
Clear, to my ear, comes her whispering low–
Lure the demure, as she rocks to and fro.
Wicked her liquid and musical flow.
Mark the soft, dark eyes that languish for you;
Sleeps in their deeps a rich violet hue;
Skies from her eyes catch their heavenly blue.
Down from her crown, tresses, fold upon fold,
Curled and impearled with their jewels untold,
Fall and enthrall with their glittering gold.
Coy, my dear boy, is a maid in repose;
Wile, with a smile, and her low laughter flows;
Speak and her cheek all incarnadine grows.
Seek in that cheek for the dimples that hide
Quite from the sight; then a moment descried,
Fly from your eye, half confessed, half denied.
Spring to her, cling to her, pearl of the sea;
Flushing and blushing, she beckons to thee;
Chase her, embrace her, the gift is from me.
Lave in the wave, with its foam-crested curl;
Toy, dearest boy, with an ocean-born girl;
Sip from her lip, decked with coral and pearl.
Press her, caress her; that billowy breast
Swells, and foretells in a sigh half suppressed,
Bliss in the kiss which you mutely request.
Gloat, as you float with her; banish alarms;
Wound in the round of her passionate arms.
Praise, as you gaze on her ravishing charms.
Reel with her, feel where the gossamer lace
Robes the white globes scarcely more than the place
Where the soft hair curls in exquisite grace.
Play with her, sway with her, loosen her zone;
Dare to lay bare her full bosom; your own
Warms for her, storms for her–she is alone.
White, on the height of her velvety breast,
Billow-like pillows, where Cupid might rest,
Heave, to receive your warm lips to them pressed.
Crowned is each mound by a rich scarlet stud;
Lips to their tips, taste each roseate bud,
Dyed by the tide of her heart’s richest blood.
Down with her, drown her sweet, murmuring cries;
Steal low and feel, near her plump rounded thighs,
Moss fine as floss, half concealing the prize
Left like the cleft in the peach’s ripe side,
Pink as the brink of a sea shell is dyed–
Out, see it pout, as its lips open wide.
Holds, in its folds, the small clitoral bud;
Thrills as it fills with her riotous blood;
Peeps from the deeps like a bright ruby stud.
Clip with the tongue tip the small sensitive flower;
Grip with the lip as it slips from its bower;
Turn, feel it burn with her passion’s full power.
Prone, with a moan of expectant delight,
Lies the sweet prize, too enraptured for fright;
Warm glows her form, there upheaved in your sight.
Swing forth the lingam, in passionate sweep;
Thrust, in your lust, to the uttermost deep;
Dart to her heart, in your masculine leap.