Classic Poem

 'Bout th' Husband Oke, the Vine
Thus wreathes to kisse his leavy face:
 Their streames thus Rivers joyne,
And lose themselves in the embrace.
 But Trees want sence when they infold,
 And Waters when they meet, are cold.

 Thus Turtles bill, and grone
Their loves into each others eare:
 Two flames thus burne in one,
When their curl'd heads to heaven they reare.
 But Birds want soule though not desire:
 And flames materiall soone expire.

 If not prophane; we'll say
When Angels close, their joyes are such.
 For we no love obey
That's bastard to a fleshly touch.
 Let's close Castara then, since thus
 We patterne Angels, and they us.