<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396347" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The British Church</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I joy, dear mother, when I view<br> Thy perfect lineaments, and hue<br> Both sweet and bright.<br> Beauty in thee takes up her place,<br> And dates her letters from thy face,<br> When she doth write.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> A fine aspect in fit array,<br> Neither too mean nor yet too gay,<br> Shows who is best.<br> Outlandish looks may not compare,<br> For all they either painted are,<br> Or else undress'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> She on the hills which wantonly<br> Allureth all, in hope to be<br> By her preferr'd,<br> Hath kiss'd so long her painted shrines,<br> That ev'n her face by kissing shines,<br> For her reward.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> She in the valley is so shy<br> Of dressing, that her hair doth lie<br> About her ears;<br> While she avoids her neighbour's pride,<br> She wholly goes on th' other side,<br> And nothing wears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But, dearest mother, what those miss,<br> The mean, thy praise and glory is<br> And long may be.<br> Blessed be God, whose love it was<br> To double-moat thee with his grace,<br> And none but thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Herbert">George Herbert</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396347" data-title="The British Church de George Herbert" data-description="I joy, dear mother, when I view Thy perfect lineaments, and hue Both sweet and bright. Beauty in thee takes up her place, And dates her letters from thy face, When she doth write. A fine aspect in fit array, Neither too mean nor yet too ga..."></div> </div> </div>

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