Love at the lips was touchAs sweet as I could bear;And once that seemed too much;I lived on airThat crossed me from sweet
things, The flow of - was it muskFrom hidden grapevine springsDown hill at dusk?I had the swirl and acheFrom sprays of honeysuckleThat when they''''re gathered shakeDew on the knuckle.I craved
strong sweets, but those Seemed strong when I was young;The petal of the roseIt was that stung.Now no joy but lacks saltThat is not dashed with painAnd weariness and fault;I crave the stainOf tears, the aftermarkOf almost too much love,The sweet of bitter barkAnd burning clove.When stiff and sore and scarredI take away my hand From leaning on it hardIn grass and sand,The hurt is not enough:I long for weight and strengthTo feel the earth as roughTo all my length.A beautiful poem written by Anne Bradstreet , to her husband seems a fitting
tribute to those who have enjoined their love in the sanctity of marriage. This is a lovely tribute to a special love.