I. <br />As I beheld a winter's evening air, <br />Curl'd in her court-false-locks of living hair, <br />Butter'd with jessamine the sun left there. <br /> <br /> II. <br />Galliard and clinquant she appear'd to give, <br />A serenade or ball to us that grieve, <br />And teach us A LA MODE more gently live. <br /> <br /> III. <br />But as a Moor, who to her cheeks prefers <br />White spots, t' allure her black idolaters, <br />Me thought she look'd all ore-bepatch'd with stars. <br /> <br /> IV. <br />Like the dark front of some Ethiopian queen, <br />Vailed all ore with gems of red, blew, green, <br />Whose ugly night seem'd masked with days skreen. <br /> <br /> V. <br />Whilst the fond people offer'd sacrifice <br />To saphyrs, 'stead of veins and arteries, <br />And bow'd unto the diamonds, not her eyes. <br /> <br /> VI. <br />Behold LUCASTA'S face, how't glows like noon! <br />A sun intire is her complexion, <br />And form'd of one whole constellation. <br /> <br /> VII. <br />So gently shining, so serene, so cleer, <br />Her look doth universal Nature cheer; <br />Only a cloud or two hangs here and there.<br /><br />Richard Lovelace<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/another-3/
