Cherry-lipped Adonis...
Cherry-lipped Adonis in his snowy shape,
Might not compare with his pure ivory white,
On whose fair front a poet's pen might write,
Whose rosiate red excels the crimson grape.
His love-enticing delicate soft limbs,
Are rarely framed t' intrap poor gazing eyes;
His cheeks, the lily and carnation dyes,
With lovely tincture which Apollo's dims.
His lips ripe strawberries in nectar wet,
His mouth a hive, his tongue a honeycomb,
Where muses (like bees) make their mansion.
His teeth pure pearl in blushing coral set.
Oh how can such a body sin-procuring,
Be slow to love, and quick to hate, enduring?
poem by Richard Barnfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Sonnet 17
Cherry-Lipt Adonis in his snowie shape,
Might not compare with his pure Ivorie white,
On whose faire front a Poets pen may write,
Whose rosiate red excels the crimson grape,
His love-enticing delicate soft limbs,
Are rarely fram'd fintrap poore gazing eies:
His cheekes, the Lillie and Carnation dies,
With lovely tincture which Apolloes dims.
His lips ripe strawberries in Nectar wet,
His mouth a Hive, his tongue a hony-combe,
Where Muses (like Bees) make their mansion.
His teeth pure Pearle in blushing Correll set.
Oh how can such a body sinne-procuring,
Be slow to love, and quicke to hate, enduring?
poem by Richard Barnfield
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Samela
LIKE to Diana in her summer weed,
Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,
Goes fair Samela.
Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed
When wash'd by Arethusa faint they lie,
Is fair Samela.
As fair Aurora in her morning grey,
Deck'd with the ruddy glister of her love
Is fair Samela;
Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day
Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move,
Shines fair Samela.
Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,
Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory
Of fair Samela;
Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams;
Her brows bright arches framed of ebony.
Thus fair Samela
Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,
And Juno in the show of majesty
(For she 's Samela!),
Pallas in wit,--all three, if you well view,
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity,
Yield to Samela.
poem by Robert Greene
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Do Not Love Thee For That Fair
I do not love thee for that fair
Rich fan of thy most curious hair;
Though the wires thereof be drawn
Finer than threads of lawn,
And are softer than the leaves
On which the subtle spider weaves.
I do not love thee for those flowers
Growing on thy cheeks, love's bowers;
Though such cunning them hath spread,
None can paint them white and red:
Love's golden arrows thence are shot,
Yet for them I love thee not.
I do not love thee for those soft
Red coral lips I've kissed so oft,
Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard
To speech whence music still is heard;
Though from those lips a kiss being taken
Mighty tyrants melt, and death awaken.
I do not love thee, O my fairest,
For that richest, for that rarest
Silver pillar, which stands under
Thy sound head, that globe of wonder;
Though that neck be whiter far
Than towers of polished ivory are.
poem by Thomas Carew
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Today... 'The Chiefest Among Ten Thousand
So radiant is my Lover to me.
The Chiefest among ten thousand is He.
With a head like pure gold and raven black hair
to Him no one else can ever compare.
His eyes are set like jewels so clear and so pure
and His lips like lilies dripping with myrrh.
His mouth of sweetness speaks of paradise
and His cheeks are perfumed with beds of spice.
His body is like smooth polished ivory
embroidered with sapphires shining in glory.
His loving arms outstretched the world to hold
and His legs like marble set in feet of gold.
This is my Lover and this is my Friend
the One in whom I can always depend.
No one on earth is as worthy as He
the Fairest of All is my Lord to me.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Lily-white Child
lily white child
hallow to thy fair
the twinklin bliss of thy eye
and beatific expression of thy face
to thy sublime innocent
in d spectrum of thy beauty
Ooh lily-white child
thy aesthetic opulency
like nebula of stars
in the terrain of rainbow
lily white child
smile like of heaven wide
sapphire teeth of angel
hallow to thy halo pure
lily white child
pure like distilled water.
poem by Samuel Francis Leumas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
For your love
‘For your love’
Open your eyes
Take in the sights
Not in the dark love
Keep on the lights love
That’s the sight of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your nostrils
Take in the smell
It’s there In the air
The high of true love
That’s the smell of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your ears
Listen to the sounds
The sounds of heartbeats pulsating
To the beat of pure love
That’s the sound of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your mouth
Stick out your tongue
Taste the sweet love
On my loving lips
That’s the taste of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your mouth
Speak to me about love
Give me the poetry
Of everlasting love
That’s the language of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Love can be a beautiful experience
Experience will let you know
That an experience lover
Will take it real slow
That’s the beauty of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
My eyes glowing eternally
For your love
Michael Micmac Mccrory
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Upon The Nipples Of Julia's Breast
Have ye beheld (with much delight)
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry (double graced)
Within a lily? Centre placed?
Or ever marked the pretty beam
A strawberry shows half drowned in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A pure smooth pearl, and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.
poem by Robert Herrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Like to the Clear in Highest Sphere
Like to the clear in highest sphere
Where all imperial glory shines,
Of selfsame colour is her hair,
Whether unfolded or in twines:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalind.
Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
Refining heaven by every wink;
The gods do fear whenas they glow,
And I do tremble when I think:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud
That beautifies Aurora's face,
Or like the silver crimson shroud
That Ph{oe}bus' smiling looks doth grace:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalind.
Her lips are like two budded roses,
Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh,
Within which bounds she balm encloses,
Apt to entice a deity:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
Her neck, like to a stately tower
Where Love himself imprison'd lies,
To watch for glances every hour
From her divine and sacred eyes:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalind.
Her paps are centres of delight,
Her paps are orbs of heavenly frame,
Where Nature moulds the dew of light,
To feed perfection with the same:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
With orient pearl, with ruby red,
With marble white, with sapphire blue,
Her body every way is fed,
Yet soft in touch, and sweet in view:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalind.
Nature herself her shape admires,
The gods are wounded in her sight,
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
And at her eyes his brand doth light:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan
The absence of fair Rosalind,
Since for her fair there is fairer none,
Nor for her virtues so divine:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalind.
Heigh ho, my heart, would God that she were mine!
poem by Thomas Lodge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rosalind: Like to the Clear in Highest Sphere
1 Like to the clear in highest sphere
2 Where all imperial glory shines,
3 Of selfsame colour is her hair,
4 Whether unfolded or in twines:
5 Heigh ho, fair Rosalind.
6 Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
7 Refining heaven by every wink;
8 The gods do fear whenas they glow,
9 And I do tremble when I think:
10 Heigh ho, would she were mine.
11 Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud
12 That beautifies Aurora's face,
13 Or like the silver crimson shroud
14 That Ph{oe}bus' smiling looks doth grace:
15 Heigh ho, fair Rosalind.
16 Her lips are like two budded roses,
17 Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh,
18 Within which bounds she balm encloses,
19 Apt to entice a deity:
20 Heigh ho, would she were mine.
21 Her neck, like to a stately tower
22 Where Love himself imprison'd lies,
23 To watch for glances every hour
24 From her divine and sacred eyes:
25 Heigh ho, fair Rosalind.
26 Her paps are centres of delight,
27 Her paps are orbs of heavenly frame,
28 Where Nature moulds the dew of light,
29 To feed perfection with the same:
30 Heigh ho, would she were mine.
31 With orient pearl, with ruby red,
32 With marble white, with sapphire blue,
33 Her body every way is fed,
34 Yet soft in touch, and sweet in view:
35 Heigh ho, fair Rosalind.
36 Nature herself her shape admires,
37 The gods are wounded in her sight,
38 And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
39 And at her eyes his brand doth light:
40 Heigh ho, would she were mine.
41 Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan
42 The absence of fair Rosalind,
43 Since for her fair there is fairer none,
44 Nor for her virtues so divine:
45 Heigh ho, fair Rosalind.
46 Heigh ho, my heart, would God that she were mine!
poem by Thomas Lodge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There Was a Cherry-Tree
There was a cherry-tree. Its bloomy snows
Cool even now the fevered sight that knows
No more its airy visions of pure joy --
As when you were a boy.
There was a cherry-tree. The Bluejay sat
His blue against its white -- O blue as jet
He seemed there then!-- But now -- Whoever knew
He was so pale a blue!
There was a cherry-tree -- our child-eyes saw
The miracle:-- Its pure white snows did thaw
Into a crimson fruitage, far too sweet
But for a boy to eat.
There was a cherry-tree, give thanks and joy!--
There was a bloom of snow -- There was a boy --
There was a bluejay of the realest blue --
And fruit for both of you.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente
MY limbs are wasted with a flame,
My feet are sore with travelling,
For calling on my Lady's name
My lips have now forgot to sing.
O Linnet in the wild-rose brake
Strain for my Love thy melody,
O Lark sing louder for love's sake,
My gentle Lady passeth by.
She is too fair for any man
To see or hold his heart's delight,
Fairer than Queen or courtezan
Or moon-lit water in the night.
Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves,
(Green leaves upon her golden hair!)
Green grasses through the yellow sheaves
Of autumn corn are not more fair.
Her little lips, more made to kiss
Than to cry bitterly for pain,
Are tremulous as brook-water is,
Or roses after evening rain.
Her neck is like white melilote
Flushing for pleasure of the sun,
The throbbing of the linnet's throat
Is not so sweet to look upon.
As a pomegranate, cut in twain,
White-seeded, is her crimson mouth,
Her cheeks are as the fading stain
Where the peach reddens to the south.
O twining hands! O delicate
White body made for love and pain!
O House of love! O desolate
Pale flower beaten by the rain!
poem by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pure Spanish Safflower
If all my memories had taste
mine would be strong,
chocolate
semi-sweet.
If your lips had flavor
they'd be honey dew.
.
Your skin's basil hinting
cinnamon
and a pinch of sensuous mint.
Your eyes have red pepper heat.
We've tasted each
other
our mutual cuisines
our secret
secrets;
our body-tastings.
You suck my fingers
make them tingle
in your warm mouth;
your tongue plays across each,
enticing them.
If all my memories had taste
mine would be strong,
chocolate
semi-sweet.
If your lips had flavor
they'd be honey dew.
.
Your skin's basil
hinting cinnamon
and a pinch of sensuous mint.
Your eyes have red pepper heat.
We've tasted each
other
our mutual cuisines
our secret
secrets;
our body-tastings.
You suck my fingers
make them tingle
in your warm mouth;
your tongue plays across each,
enticing it.
Your mouth is relentless
travels all around
enough to make
my nail polish blush.
Your massages heal
your palm in the small of my back
remains the perfect fit.
You make my skin flowers bloom
rosette heavings
I lay down to be your banquet;
your nocturnal feast
And I am pure Spanish Safflower
for you my sweet
my lips
red and tingling
provide dessert
at this feast
upon Love's Cuisine.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rosaline
LIKE to the clear in highest sphere
Where all imperial glory shines,
Of selfsame colour is her hair
Whether unfolded or in twines:
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
Resembling heaven by every wink;
The gods do fear whenas they glow,
And I do tremble when I think
Heigh ho, would she were mine!
Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud
That beautifies Aurora's face,
Or like the silver crimson shroud
That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace.
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
Her lips are like two budded roses
Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh,
Within whose bounds she balm encloses
Apt to entice a deity:
Heigh ho, would she were mine!
Her neck like to a stately tower
Where Love himself imprison'd lies,
To watch for glances every hour
From her divine and sacred eyes:
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
Her paps are centres of delight,
Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame,
Where Nature moulds the dew of light
To feed perfection with the same:
Heigh ho, would she were mine!
With orient pearl, with ruby red,
With marble white, with sapphire blue,
Her body every way is fed,
Yet soft to touch and sweet in view:
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
Nature herself her shape admires;
The gods are wounded in her sight;
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
And at her eyes his brand doth light:
Heigh ho, would she were mine!
Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan
The absence of fair Rosaline,
Since for a fair there 's fairer none,
Nor for her virtues so divine:
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
Heigh ho, my heart! would God that she were mine!
poem by Thomas Lodge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fundo
Thou art love's sweet dew which frost mine heart
Dressed in chemise white, love's scintillating tart
My heart blooms into pink lilies fair as thine dew melts
Ores of love from hate for mine heart smelts
Into beautiful, soft, delicate, elegant silk
As pure as light as white as milk
To wrap thee in and love with beauty cherish
In my grasps we melt with love till love doth perish…
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The shell
Look what a beautiful shell of ivory white
Recently thrown at the sands by the rushing tide
See what a lovely shell a pad of a soft sloth snail
Small and pure without the notoriety of a pearl
Lying on the back of sand hill so nigh to my foot
Brittle, frail spared by the violent breakers loot
Oh what mind what hand has made it so fairly well
Ah, empty, vacant from the creature that within it dwells
Its delicate spire and whorl
How exquisitely are weaved its stripes of colors in whole
A miracle of design, that lives through ancient time
No less in beauty and charm than a poet rhyme
A piece of beauty is called a 'shell' by man
Not a pearl, not a jewel but unmoving dull clumsy name
A 'shell' which does not recall any treasure or historical fame
Let him who did not create it call it as he can
He who passes by it without notice, this pleasure from his eyes to ban
Yet this beauty holds in the sands and its charm contends the same
Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved
Romancing A Red Cherry Inside My Mouth
got one cherry
inside my mouth
letting it stay there
as my tongue
toys with a red
sweet cherry
my lips, my lips
drenched
with such sweetness
i salivate
prelude to love
tonight
watery cherry
bursting in red
sweet blood
spreading on my tongue
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There is a Garden in Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds filled with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt, with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Champion (1619)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
There Is A Garden In Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still,
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Campion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Kiss
She turns her head gently
From left to right
And from right to left,
Avoiding my blazing lips.
Her shiny ebon hair
Gracefully frames her charming face.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The blue waves of the sea,
The flight of birds very high,
The azure serenity of the sky.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The green tranquility of the forest
Happiness and sadness,
Her beautiful soul, suffering and love,
The pristine spirit of an ivory dove.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The pure white blossoms of Lily
And the sun rising over the mountain,
The bliss and joy of life, the sorrow and the pain.
She turns her head gently
From right to left
And from left to right
Until my lips meet with hers
And I kiss her enchanted, throbbing and trembling.
Time stands still, only the hour grows thin,
Her delicate fingers plough my bare skin.
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!