BY his Mistress going to Bed: a response to John Donne

The famous erotic poem Elegy XIX: To His Mistress Going To Bed by John Donne challenged Sylvia Daly to write the same scene from the woman's point of view.

A Response to Elegy XIX

by the poet John Donne

Oh, I am coming Sire, thou needst not fret,

On that my mind and heart are truly set.

But hold, you speak of tryst as if a tussle,

When needs demand thou service first my muscle.

My girdle is releasing tight-bound flesh,

Now resting from its bonds and choking mesh.

All draped in linen, hidden is my form,

To still the rush of awful ardour’s storm.

Cast not your mind on lewd arousing things

Dwell much on matters grave for earls and kings,

Let not thy hand move on to standing rod,

Before my maiden lanes your lust has trod.

And whence I move into our shared bed,

Direct your efforts firstly to my head,

To kiss and feed upon my swollen lips

As pollen for the bee from flower sips.

Then moving slow as hawk upon the wing,

Caress my neck, my shoulders, make flesh sing.

Your eager hand may then to clasp the part

That bondeth with a golden thread my heart.

Hold fast your ardour then and vision lest

Your seed escapes its cool and rounded nest.

Secure a blindfold o’er your lusting eye,

Until you hear my voice in passion cry.

Oh gently move into my hidden place,

And seek the grail all eased with frothing lace.

With care do part the seals that hide this prize

From brutish hands and dim unseeing eyes.

Work not to conquer this all-hallowed ground,

For maiden’s fern doth cover riches sound,

That those who brutish covet for their spoil

Will lose.  Victory needs not battle’s toil,

It takes not reckless act nor hero’s dare

To part the leaves of sweetbush maidenhair,

And massage gentle strokes the hidden pearl

Until my breath do pant and toes up-curl.

My cries will tell you when the deed is done,

The gasps that truly mean we are as one.

Then let your sceptre bring its kingly flood

With jet to cool our lover’s burning blood.

Into my secret place where pleasure lies

For both will know of ecstasy’s sweet sighs,

A paradise all shared, and double bliss

Not one betrayed by Eros’ Judas-kiss

Where taking all your pleasure leaves your mate,

Abandoned in hot, dull, frustrated state.

So, heed my words if you would all impress

For this receipt owes man his great success.

 

Sylvia Daly 

 

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 

Sylvia says, 'I have rather careered about for most of my working life, which means I can...clean a chimney, pluck a pheasant, teach typing, extract honey from a hive, play the piano accordion, write a poem and a song. From a long line of ne’er do wells, am carrying on the honourable tradition. Oh, yes, and am learning to play the viola. Originally from the East End of London, came to Brighton via Wales, West Cork, Hereford, Eastbourne, Worcester and Ramsgate and am loving it. Old now, grave beckons...bring it on.'