The Measure of Beauty
Give Beauty all her right,
She's not to one form tied;
Each shape yields fair delight,
Where her perfections bide:
Helen, I grant, might pleasing be,
And Ros'mond was as sweet as she.
Some the quick eye commends,
Some swelling lips and red;
Pale looks have many friends,
Through sacred sweetness bred:
Meadows have flowers that pleasure move,
Though roses are the flowers of love.
Free beauty is not bound
To one unmoved clime;
She visits every ground
And favours every time.
Let the old loves with mine compare,
My sovereign is as sweet as fair.
poem by Thomas Campion
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Song of The Rose
F Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth,
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup
To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west.
Fair Flowers
Blossom fair flowers of my fair lady,
The prime time of love is now here to share with her;
For her precious petals are now full of love.
To unfold the truth and to kiss what she has to give to me,
But, i want to spin around the spot of love with pleasure things;
And with the blossom of fair flowers of her love.
Float like a butterfly and sting like a gnat on this muse!
For, i was born to love my fair lady in the ladn of beautiful flowers;
And, behind every great vision, there is a positive realm.
To cry at birth and to cry when you are older,
over the clouds of love and with the beauty of the rainbow around;
But this parasie of love is for my fair lady and i,
And like the black ribbon up high in the sky! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Licia Sonnets 35
Whenas I wish, fair Licia, for a kiss
From those sweet lips where rose and lilies strive,
Straight do mine eyes repine at such a bliss,
And seek my lips thereof for to deprive;
Whenas I seek to glut mine eyes by sight,
My lips repine and call mine eyes away;
Thus both contend to have each other's right,
And both conspire to work my full decay.
O force admired of beauty in her pride,
In whose each part such strange effects there be,
That all my forces in themselves divide.
And make my senses plainly disagree.
If all were mine, this envy would be gone;
Then grant me all, fair sweet, or grant me none!
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Your Beauty Had....
A time to talk and of the time to write,
A time to read and a time to learn,
Your beauty is all over me!
For we almost look alike and you are what the muse brought to me.
Your beauty had taken me up so high!
And it has also taken my breath away;
In delight and in words,
And in calmly waters to move me about with the sweet muse of love.
I high level of friction on this love is like a cry of joy! !
And the sweet muse of your love is all that it takes;
But the shape of your naked body tells it all,
And like the words of a bard searching for the land of beautiful flowers.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Marriage Song
Fair is my dove, my loved one,
None can with her compare:
Yea, comely as Jerusalem,
Like unto Tirzah fair.
Shall she in tents unstable
A wanderer abide,
While in my heart awaits her
A dwelling deep and wide?
The magic of her beauty
Has stolen my heart away:
Not Egypt's wise enchanters
Held half such wondrous sway.
Even as the changing opal
In varying luster glows,
Her face at every moment
New charms and sweetness shows.
White lilies and red roses
There blossom on one stem:
Her lips of crimson berries
Tempt mine to gather them.
By dusky tresses shaded
Her brow gleams fair and pale,
Like to the sun at twilight,
Behind a cloudy veil.
Her beauty shames the day-star,
And makes the darkness light:
Day in her radiant presence
Grows seven times more bright.
This is a lonely lover!
Come, fair one, to his side,
That happy be together
The bridegroom and the bride!
The hour of love approaches
That shall make one of twain:
Soon may be thus united
All Israel's hosts again!
poem by Yehudah HaLevi
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Her Beauty
Her true beauty leaves behind
Apprehensions in my mind
Of more sweetness than all art
Or inventions can impart;
Thoughts too deep to be expressed,
And too strong to be suppressed....
... What pearls, what rubies can
Seem so lovely fair to man,
As her lips whom he doth love
When in sweet discourse they move:
Or her lovelier teeth, the while
She doth bless him with a smile!
Stars indeed fair creatures be;
Yet amongst us where is he
Joys not more the whilst he lies
Sunning in his mistress' eyes.
Than in all the glimmering light
Of a starry winter's night?
Note the beauty of an eye,
And if aught you praise it by
Leave such passion in your mind,
Let my reason's eye be blind.
Mark if ever red or white
Anywhere gave such delight
As when they have taken place
In a worthy woman's face.
poem by George Wither
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: LXXXV
THE SAME CONTINUED
These flowers shall be my offering, living flowers
Which here shall die with you in sacrifice,
Flowers from the empty fields which once were yours
And now are mine. No gold, nor myrrh, nor spice,
Nor any dead man's offering may suffice.
I love not flowers: but thus to deck a grave
Which has no need of things of greater price.
Life is the only tribute death would have.
--Ah, thou art dead. Mine is this fair domain
With all its living beauty and brave shows
Of lawn, and lake, and garden; mine the increase
Of the year's harvest, the slow growth of trees,
And that fair natural wealth we loved in vain,
Flowers, which shall never more adorn my house.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Amoretti LXXIX: Men Call you Fair
Men call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that your self ye daily such do see:
But the true fair, that is the gentle wit,
And vertuous mind, is much more prais'd of me.
For all the rest, how ever fair it be,
Shall turn to naught and lose that glorious hue:
But only that is permanent and free
From frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue.
That is true beauty: that doth argue you
To be divine, and born of heavenly seed:
Deriv'd from that fair Spirit, from whom all true
And perfect beauty did at first proceed.
He only fair, and what he fair hath made,
All other fair, like flowers untimely fade.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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To His Forsaken Mistress
I DO confess thou'rt smooth and fair,
And I might have gone near to love thee,
Had I not found the slightest prayer
That lips could move, had power to move thee;
But I can let thee now alone
As worthy to be loved by none.
I do confess thou'rt sweet; yet find
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind
That kisseth everything it meets:
And since thou canst with more than one,
Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.
The morning rose that untouch'd stands
Arm'd with her briers, how sweet she smells!
But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands,
Her sweets no longer with her dwells:
But scent and beauty both are gone,
And leaves fall from her, one by one.
Such fate ere long will thee betide
When thou hast handled been awhile,
With sere flowers to be thrown aside;
And I shall sigh, while some will smile,
To see thy love to every one
Hath brought thee to be loved by none.
poem by Sir Robert Aytoun
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Ballade of my Lady's Beauty
Squire Adam had two wives, they say,
Two wives had he, for his delight,
He kissed and clypt them all the day
And clypt and kissed them all the night.
Now Eve like ocean foam was white
And Lilith roses dipped in wine,
But though they were a goodly sight
No lady is so fair as mine.
To Venus some folk tribute pay
And Queen of Beauty she is hight,
And Sainte Marie the world doth sway
In cerule napery bedight.
My wonderment these twain invite,
Their comeliness it is divine,
And yet I say in their despite,
No lady is so fair as mine.
Dame Helen caused a grievous fray,
For love of her brave men did fight,
The eyes of her made sages fey
And put their hearts in woeful plight.
To her no rhymes will I indite,
For her no garlands will I twine,
Though she be made of flowers and light
No lady is so fair as mine.
L'Envoi
Prince Eros, Lord of lovely might,
Who on Olympus dost recline,
Do I not tell the truth aright?
No lady is so fair as mine.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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Beauty, Beauty
Beauty, beauty in the light. Beauty, Beauty falling through. How sweet must beauty, beauty be. Beauty, beauty how it's happy. Beauty, beauty in the sky and in the grass. Beauty, beauty in the trees. Beauty, beauty on the ground. Beauty, beauty crawling on the ground. Beauty, beauty always climbing. Beauty, beauty that we are sirrounded by.
poem by Shania K. Younce
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The Picture of Little T. C. in a Prospect of Flowers
SEE with what simplicity
This nymph begins her golden days!
In the green grass she loves to lie,
And there with her fair aspect tames
The wilder flowers, and gives them names;
But only with the roses plays,
And them does tell
What colour best becomes them, and what smell.
Who can foretell for what high cause
This darling of the gods was born?
Yet this is she whose chaster laws
The wanton Love shall one day fear,
And, under her command severe,
See his bow broke and ensigns torn.
Happy who can
Appease this virtuous enemy of man!
O then let me in time compound
And parley with those conquering eyes,
Ere they have tried their force to wound;
Ere with their glancing wheels they drive
In triumph over hearts that strive,
And them that yield but more despise:
Let me be laid,
Where I may see the glories from some shade.
Meantime, whilst every verdant thing
Itself does at thy beauty charm,
Reform the errors of the Spring;
Make that the tulips may have share
Of sweetness, seeing they are fair,
And roses of their thorns disarm;
But most procure
That violets may a longer age endure.
But O, young beauty of the woods,
Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers,
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds;
Lest Flora, angry at thy crime
To kill her infants in their prime,
Do quickly make th' example yours;
And ere we see,
Nip in the blossom all our hopes and thee.
poem by Andrew Marvell
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Hymn 73
The church's beauty in the eyes of Christ.
SS 4:1-11.
Kind is the speech of Christ our Lord,
Affection sounds in every word:
Lo! thou art fair, my love," he cries,
"Not the young doves have sweeter eyes."
["Sweet are thy lips, thy pleasing voice
Salutes mine ear with secret joys;
No spice so much delights the smell,
Nor milk nor honey tastes so well.]
"Thou art all fair, my bride, to me,
I will behold no spot in thee."
What mighty wonders love performs,
And puts a comeliness on worms!
Defiled and loathsome as we are,
He makes us white, and calls us fair;
Adorns us with that heav'nly dress,
His graces and his righteousness.
"My sister and my spouse," he cries,
"Bound to my heart by various ties,
Thy powerful love my heart detains
In strong delight and pleasing chains."
He calls me from the leopard's den,
From this wild world of beasts and men,
To Zion, where his glories are;
Not Lebanon is half so fair.
Nor dens of prey, nor flowery plains,
Nor earthly joys, nor earthly pains,
Shall hold my feet or force my stay,
When Christ invites my soul away.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Of This You Can Be Sure
The summer sun rises over the hills,
With a beauty and certain grace,
But it cannot compete with the beauty of you,
Or the beauty of your face.
The falling snow in wintertime,
Makes everything look so new,
But it cannot compare with the beauty,
The beauty that is you.
The birds in springtime sing their song,
So sweetly and so pure,
But they cannot compare with your sweet words,
Of this you can be sure.
The colorful leaves on autumn trees,
All covered with morning dew,
May be glorious in their beauty,
But are nothing compared to you.
All the wonders on this fine earth,
And the glory of up above,
Are nothing compared to your sweet charms,
Or the beauty of your love.
12-18-09.
poem by Alan W. Jankowski
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The Violet And The Rose
The violet in the wood, that's sweet to-day,
Is longer sweet than roses of red June;
Set me sweet violets along my way,
And bid the red rose flower, but not too soon.
Ah violet, ah rose, why not the two?
Why bloom not all fair flowers the whole year through?
Why not the two, young violet, ripe rose?
Why dies one sweetness when another blows?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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A Colourful Rose Flower!
Colourful rose flowers give a beautiful idea of pleasure;
Lips of rose petals kiss everyone’s heart with pleasure!
Red rose transports one to the world of love and beauty;
Power of rose among all flowers is undisputed forever!
Red rose is for love, beauty, courage and respect, know!
Yellow rose is for joy, friendship, delight and new bonds!
White rose stands for purity, innocence and humility ever;
Pink rose is gifted for appreciation and thanks for deeds.
Orange rose is for desire, enthusiasm and passion ever!
Lavender rose is linked to love at first sight for all lovers!
Blue rose is for healing, dreams and mystery to be realised
And is recently genetically engineered and produced nice!
Who does not love rose flowers of many colours we see now?
Even rose petals are not left from extracting oil to make perfume!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Pleasant As May
Writer Dolly Parton
Copyright 1973
The mid summer sun shines but dim the fields try in vain to look gay
But when I was happy with him December was pleasant as May
There once was a time he and I picked flowers to braid in my hair
And the songbirds would sing sweet song of love that was tender and fair
No difference the seasons may quit our love was as warm as the sun
And it mattered not where did the snow
Or green grass kissed the fields where we'd run
Now the mid summer sun shines...
Sweet flowers sweet birds and sweet song have now lost their sweetness to me
For ever my darling is gone and for ever my heartbroken I'll be
Now the mid summer sun shines...
The mid summer sun shines but dim mmm
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Calendar of Sonnets: April
No days such honored days as these! While yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
In fitting frame that no age could forget,
Her name in lovely April's name did hide,
And leave it there, eternally allied
To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget.
And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth,
Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth,
A holier symbol still in seal and sign,
Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine,
When Christ ascended, in the time of birth
Of spring anemones, in Palestine.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Anne Hathaway's Cottage
IS this the Cottage, ivy-girt and crowned,
And this the path down which our Shakespeare ran,
When, in the April of his love, sweet Anne
Made all his mighty pulses throb and bound;
Where, mid coy buds and winking flowers around,
She blushed a rarer rose than roses can,
To greet her Will--even Him, fair Avon's Swan--
Whose name has turned this plot to holy ground!
To these dear walls, once dear to Shakespeare's eyes,
Time's Vandal hand itself has done no wrong;
This nestling lattice opened to his song,
When, with the lark, he bade his love arise
In words whose strong enchantment never dies--
Old as these flowers, and, like them, ever young.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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A Song
The Shape alone let others prize,
The Features of the Fair;
I look for Spirit in her Eyes,
And Meaning in her Air.
A Damask Cheek, an Iv'ry Arm,
Shall ne'er my Wishes win,
Give me an animated Form,
That speaks a Mind within.
A Face where awful Honour shines,
Where Sense and Sweetness move,
And Angel Innocence refines,
The Tenderness of Love.
These are the Soul of Beauty's frame,
Without whose vital Aid,
Unfinish'd all her Features seem,
And all her Roses dead.
But ah! where both their Charms unite,
How perfect is the View,
With ev'ry Image of Delight,
With Graces ever new.
Of Pow'r to charm the greatest Woe,
The wildest Rage controul,
Diffusing Mildness o'er the Brow,
And Rapture thro' the Soul.
Their Pow'r but faintly to express,
All Language must despair,
But go behold
Arpasia's
Face,
And read it perfect there.
poem by Mark Akenside
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