I gently touched her hand.
She gave a look that did my soul enslave;
I pressed her rebel lips in vain.
They rose to be pressed again.
Thus happy,  I no farther meant,
But to be pleased and innocent.
Thus trust me, I no farther meant,
But to be pleased and innocent.

On her soft breasts my hand I laid,
And a quick, light impression made.
They with a kindly warmth did glow,
And swelled and seemed to overflow.
Yet trust me, I no farther meant,
But to be pleased and innocent.

 ...