After The French Liberation Of Italy

AS when the last of the paid joys of love

Has come and gone; and with a single kiss

At length, and with one laugh of satiate bliss,

The wearied man a minute rests above

The wearied woman, no more urged to move

In those long throes of longing, till they glide,

Now lightlier clasped, each to the other's side,

In joys past acting, not past dreaming of:—

So Europe now beneath this paramour

Lies for a little out of use,—full oft

Submissive to his lust, a loveless whore.

He wakes, she sleeps, the breath falls slow and soft.

Wait: the bought body holds a birth within,

An harlot's child, to scourge her for her sin.