Upon a black twist rounding the arm of the Countess of Carlisle

I saw about her spotless wrist,

Of blackest silk, a curious twist;

Which, circumvolving gently, there

Enthrall'd her arm as prisoner.

Dark was the jail, but as if light

Had met t'engender with the night;

Or so as darkness made a stay

To show at once both night and day.

One fancy more! but if there be

Such freedom in captivity,

I beg to love that ever I

May in like chains of darkness lie.