 | Poems By John Hall |  |
52
Of Beauty.
1
What doe I here, what's Beauty? lasseHow doth it passe?
As flowers assoone as smelled at
Evaporate,
Even so this shaddow, ere our eyes
Can view it, flies.
2
What's colour? 'lasse the sullen NightCan it affright;
A Rose can more Vermilion speake,
Then any cheeke;
A richer white on Lillies stands,
Then any hands.
3
Then what's that worth, when any FlowerIs worth far more?
How constant's that which needs must die
When day doth fly?
Glow-wormes can lend some petty light,
To gloomy night.
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4
And what's proportion? wee descryThat in a flie;
And what's a lip? tis in the test,
Red clay at best.
And what's an Eye? an Eaglets are
More strong by farre.
5
Who can that specious nothing heed,Which flies exceed?
Who would his frequent kisses lay
On painted clay?
Wh'ould not if eyes affection move
Young Eaglets love?
6
Is Beauty thus? then who would lieLove-sicke and die?
And's wretched selfe annihilate
For knowes not what?
And with such sweat and care invade
A very shade?
54
7
Even he that knowes not to possesseTrue Happinesse,
But has some strong desires to try
What's misery,
And longs for teares, oh He will prove
One fit for Love.
| Poems By John Hall | |