Darling, to say I love thee, is to say
What I have often said, with careless arm
Round Chloe's waist, in breath no wit too warm
For the hot ear that close against me lay.
Not thus I love thee, as a beast of prey
That slakes his craving, whether weal or harm
Betide his minion; then, with every charm
Sated and spent, turns wearily away.
That which thou givest, seems ever to invite
To pleasures new, and fresh, and manifold,
That recreate a youth in senses old.
So that love's dizziest and extremest flight
Draws me but nearer, strengthens passion's might,
Grows with its outlay, like the usurer's gold.