Poem by Aphra Behn

The Dream

All trembling in my arms Aminta lay,
Defending of the bliss I strove to take;
Raising my rapture by her kind delay,
Her force so charming was and weak.
The soft resistance did betray the grant,
While I pressed on the heaven of my desires;
Her rising breasts with nimbler motions pant;
Her dying eyes assume new fires.
Now to the height of languishment she grows,
And still her looks new charms put on;
Now the last mystery of Love she knows,
We sigh, and kiss: I waked, and all was done.

‘Twas but a dream, yet by my heart I knew,
Which still was panting, part of it was true:
Oh how I strove the rest to have believed;
Ashamed and angry to be undeceived! 

1. Oh, How the Hand the Lover Ought to Prize
2. Epitaph on the Tombstone of a Child, the Last of Seven that Died Before
3. To Lysander
4. Angellica’s Lament
5. The Disappointment

Edna Millay The Dream ("LOVE, if I weep it will not matter")

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