Though we tasted of sweet pleasure,
And I thought you were a treasure,
Here now as we lie at leisure,

And I can feel your supple skin
Pressing against mine ‘neath the thin
Sheet where we now repose, within

Worries start to fill my mind
For the passion that we did find.
Oh, how I wish that I were blind!

Why must my conscience now employ
Its arcane arts meant to destroy
Our sensual, secular joy?

Why is it that she crosses my
Mind? In my secret freedom why
Should I worry if she will cry?

Didn’t she destroy all my bliss?
Isn’t her love like an abyss?
But my distress flees with a kiss,

And a gentle touch slays my woes.
My thoughtful foes now decompose
Among our disembodied clothes.