Classic Poem

Four arms, two necks, one wreathing;
Two pairs of lips, one breathing;
Two hearts that multiply
Sighs interchangeably:

The thought of this confounds me,
And as I speak it wounds me.
It cannot be expressed.
Good help me, whilst I rest.

Bad stomachs have their loathing,
And oh, this all is no thing:
This " no" with griefs both prove
Report oft turns to love.