LOVE’S PRAISE
They praise their ladies:
They praise their ladies:Feet
“Shapely,” and eyes “demure,”
And lips “down-curved, discreet,”
Brows “virginal and pure,”
And breasts whose dazzling loveliness
Frail men may scarce endure.
Their necks are white as snow,
Their hair as yellow gold,
Their teeth are set a-row
As pearls of price untold;
They have all charms of body and face—
That fade when one grows old.
But I, I am scarce ’ware
Of the colour of your eyes
Or the colour of your hair,
And sing not in this wise,
For your heart is all my care
And the love that in it lies.
Haply your neck is white,
Your hair continually
May send forth gleams more bright
Than any gold may be,
Your cheeks may peach-like bloom; but yet,
What’s that to Love or me?
Are other lips discreeter?
Are other eyes demurer?
I know no heart is sweeter,
The faith of none is surer.
And, since no love’s more pure than yours,
What boots whose brow is purer?
Are they not fond who think
This love and this love’s praise
To draw in waning ink,
The body’s passing phase;
Is it thus that you and I should waste
The unreturning days?
When earth’s alive with Spring
And hearts nigh break with bliss,
Should I stand forth and sing
Praises as vain as this?
Nay, Love is its own praise, and speaks
Itself in every kiss.