Classic Poem

Come now my fair one, let me love thee new,
Since thou art new created. For 'tis true
When souls distain'd by loose and wandring fears,
Once purge themselves by penitential tears,
They gain a second birth, and scorn to flye
At any mark but Noblest purity.
Then who can tell that e're there was offence,
Contrition does as much as Innocence.
Black lines in Tablets once expung'd, they are
Clear to each eye, and like their first age, fair.
When Colours are discharg'd, and after dy'd
Fresh by the Artist, can it then be spy'd
Where the soil was? So Convert Magdalen
Excell'd more after her Conversion, then
Before she had offended: slips that be
'Twixt friends from frailty, are but as you see
Sad absence to strong lovers; when they meet,
It makes their warm imbraces far more sweet.
Come then, and let us like two streams swell'd high,
Meet, and with soft and gentle struglings try,
How like their curling waves we mingle may,
Till both be made one floud; then who can say
Which this way flow'd, which that: For there will be
Still water; close united Extasie.
That when we next shall but of motion dream,
We both shall slide one way, both make one stream.