I had now totally taken in love's true arrow from the
point up to the feather, in that part, where making now new
wound, the lips of the original one of nature, which had
owed its first breathing to this dear instrument, clung, as
if sensible of gratitude, in eager suction round it, whilst
all its inwards embrac'd it tenderly with a warmth of gust,
a compressive energy, that gave it, in its way, the hearti-
est welcome in nature; every fibre there gathering tight
round it, and straining ambitiously to come in for its share
of the blissful touch.
As we were giving them a few moments of pause to the
delectation of the senses, in dwelling with the highest
relish on this intimatest point of re-union, and chewing the
cud of enjoyment, the impatience natural to the pleasure soon
drove us into action. Then began the driving tumult on his
side, and the responsive heaves on mine, which kept me up to
him; whilst, as our joys grew too great for utterance, the
organs of our voices, voluptuously intermixing, became organs
of the touch . . . and oh, that touch! how delicious! . . .
how poignantly luscious! . . . And now! now I felt to the
heart of me! I felt the prodigious keen edge with which love,
presiding over this act, points the pleasure: love! that may
be styled the Attic salt of enjoyment; and indeed, without
it, the joy, great as it is, is still a vulgar one, whether
in a king or a beggar; for it is, undoubtedly, love alone
that refines, ennobles and exalts it.
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