Between Your Sheets

Between your sheets you soundly sleep Nor dreams of vigils that we lovers keep While all the night, I waking sign your name, The tender sound does every nerve inflame, Imagination shows me all your charms, The plenteous silken hair, and waxen arms, The well turned neck, and snowy rising breast And all the beauties that supinely rest between your sheets. Ah Lindamira, could you see my heart, How fond, how true, how free from fraudful art, The warmest glances poorly do explain The eager wish, the melting throbbing pain Which through my very blood and soul I feel, Which you cannot believe nor I reveal, Which every metaphor must render less And yet (methinks) which I could well express between your sheets.