To Cynthia On Her Embraces Poem by Francis Kynaston

If thou a reason dost desire to know,
My (dearest Cynthia) why I love thee so,
As when I do enjoy all the loves store,
I am not yet content, but seeke for more;
When we do kisse so often as the tale
Of kisses doth out-vie the winters haile:
When I do print them on more close and sweet
Than shels of Scalops, Cockles when they meet,
Yet am not satisfied: when I do close
Thee nerer to me then the Ivy growes
Unto the Oke: when those white armes of thine
Clip me more close than doth the Elme the Vine:
When naked both, thou seemest not to bee
Contiguous, but continuous parts of mee:
And wee in bodies are together brought
So neere, our soules may know each others thought
Without a whisper: yet I do aspire
To come more close to thee, and to be nigher:
Know, 'twas well say'd, that spirits are too high
For bodies, when they meet to satisfie;
Our soules having like formes of light and sence,
Proceeding from the same intelligence,
Desire to mixe like to two water drops,
Whose union some little hindrance stops,
Which meeting both together would be one.
For in the steele, and in the Adamant stone,
One and the same Magneticke soule is cause,
That with such unseene chaines each other drawes:
So our soules now divided, brook't not well,
That beeing one, they should asunder dwell.
Then let me die, that so my soule beeing free,
May joyne with that her other halfe in thee,
For when in thy pure selfe it shall abide,
It shall assume a body glorified,
Beeing in that high blisse; nor shall we twaine
Or wish to meet, or feare to part againe.