To My Dead Mistress Poem by Liberty Smart

Had I but Salt enough, and Lime
Thy corpse could not prove my Crime.
I would sit me down and think on thee
As your Body rots beneath our tree.
Thou of wit and charmed smile
Wouldst the Ages not defile
And time would mock our passing glance
If she'd know my thoughts, perchance.
Yet still she found me in thy embrace
Of all they in this Human Race
And knew ye not of vengeance sworn
For all thy Ancients' ill-won scorn
For Blood and Clan and Pride that fell
Your children - naught! - wouldst thee tell
But rottest ye in earth's soiled arms
Where once I fell for lowly charms
And broken twigs to decorate
The place and time of your ill fate
Yet once more shall I gloat again
Before I leave this place of pain
For, though easy fell the stroke of death
Yet still, I seem to miss your breath
Although our joining was not for long
And though your hands felt oh! so wrong
Your lips of ice and breath of heat.
I fear that I shall never meet
One that I can call my own
To make me, in debauchery, groan
I must admit, if just to me
That one like you, I'll not not see
Again.