Classic Poem

When on thy lip my soul I breath,
Which there meets thine,
Freed from their fetters by this death
Our subtile Forms combine;
Thus without bonds of sence they move,
And like two Cherubins converse by love.

Spirits to chains of earth confin'd
Discourse by sence;
But ours that are by flames refin'd
With those weak ties dispence;
Let such in words their minds display,
We in a kisse our mutual thoughts convey.

But since my soul from me doth flie,
To thee retir'd,
Thou canst not both retain; for I
Must be with one inspir'd;
Then, Dearest, either justly mine
Restore, or in exchange let me have thine.

Yet if thou dost return mine own,
Oh tak't again!
For 'tis this pleasing death alone
Gives ease unto my pain:
Kill me once more, or I shall find
Thy pity then thy cruelty, lesse kind.