 | Poems Divine, and Humane |  |
The Perfume.
Not that I thinke thy breath lesse sweete than this,Thy breath, in which no pleasant sweets I misse,
Not that I thinke thy white, than this lesse faire,
Thy white, to which all whites but blacknesse are:
Not that I thinke thy heart, than this lesse pure,
Thy heart, which no dull mixture can indure,
Send I this to thee, but as gold well try'd,
Admits allay when it is purifi'd,
What is thy breath, thy whitenesse, and thy heart,
Thy breath, all perfumes, doth as faire out-goe,
As doth thy whitenesse, the descending snow;
The snow descends, but by the winds being blowne,
Thy sweeter breath, and whiter snows, thine owne:
Thy heart lesse mixt than the sole Phœnix bed,
Proclaimes thee mistresse of a Maiden head,
And so there were no ashes after fire,
Would that were conquer'd in my loves desire
But if there be, why can it not suffice?
That one being dead another Phœnix rise.
Thy maiden head being gone, we still shall prove,
Both being one unparalell'd in love,
But I have riddl'd, let me now unfold,
What is the perfume, what the snow, what gold;
All this, and each of these, thou knowst thou art,
And I should know more, did I know thy heart.
| Poems Divine, and Humane | |