I gently touched her hand: she gave
A look that did my soul enslave
I pressed her rebel lips in vain
they rose up to be pressed again.
Thus happy, I no farther meant
than to be pleased and innocent
On her soft hands my hand I laid
And a quick, light impression made
they with a kindly warmth did glow,
And swelled and seemed to overflow.
Yet, trust me, I no farther meant,
Than to be pleased and innocent.
On her eyes my eyes did stay
On her smooth limbs my hands did stray
Each sense was ravished with delight
And my soul stood prepared for flight
Blame me not if at last I meant
More to be pleased than innocent
