 | Poems and Translations |  |
36
NOT FLATTERING.
O no! her eyes are not like stars,
Her hair's not threads of gold;
And for her voice, it rather jars
On me to hear her scold.
Her nose is good, say for a scent;
Her mouth, I own, is wide;
And heaven a knack of laughing lent
To show the teeth inside.
Her hair's not threads of gold;
And for her voice, it rather jars
On me to hear her scold.
Her nose is good, say for a scent;
Her mouth, I own, is wide;
And heaven a knack of laughing lent
To show the teeth inside.
Her smile is pleasant, I allow;
Her lips, well,—they are curved,
Enough for kissing-gear,—I vow
Her lover'd not be sterved.
Such as she is, this maid I love;
If she'll have me for man,
I'll prize her, fairer girls above,
As fairly as I can.
Her lips, well,—they are curved,
Enough for kissing-gear,—I vow
Her lover'd not be sterved.
Such as she is, this maid I love;
If she'll have me for man,
I'll prize her, fairer girls above,
As fairly as I can.
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