 | Poems Divine, and Humane |  |
To Mistresse.
While as the lockes of time, and smoother farreThan sliding streames thy skinne and tresses are.
Sweete as Arabian Odors, when in fire
Their strugling spirits upwards do expire,
(When as the curteous wind doth court our sence,
And ravish it with sweete intelligence)
Is thy pure breath: onely this difference know,
That sent is forc't, but thine is naturall so,
Soft as the plumie mosse that over-spreads
The tender circle of young Turtles heads,
Are thy two breasts, which enviously do swell
To thinke that that should this, this that excell:
And yet asham'd such strife their pride hath bred,
Both blush and tip themselves with bashfull red.
Types, locks, streams, odors, downe, nor blushes are
So red, so soft, so sweet, so smooth, so faire.
| Poems Divine, and Humane | |