See the chariot at hand here of Love, <br /> Wherein my lady rideth! <br /> Each that draws is a swan or a dove, <br /> And well the car Love guideth. <br /> As she goes, all hearts do duty <br /> Unto her beauty; <br /> And enamour'd, do wish, so they might <br /> But enjoy such a sight, <br /> That they still were to run by her side, <br /> Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. <br /> <br /> Do but look on her eyes, they do light <br /> All that Love's world compriseth! <br /> Do but look on her hair, it is bright <br /> As Love's star when it riseth! <br /> Do but mark, her forehead's smoother <br /> Than words that soothe her; <br /> And from her arched brows, such a grace <br /> Sheds itself through the face <br /> As alone there triumphs to the life <br /> All the gain, all the good, of the elements' strife. <br /> <br /> Have you seen but a bright lily grow, <br /> Before rude hands have touch'd it? <br /> Ha' you mark'd but the fall o' the snow <br /> Before the soil hath smutch'd it? <br /> Ha' you felt the wool o' the beaver? <br /> Or swan's down ever? <br /> Or have smelt o' the bud o' the briar? <br /> Or the nard in the fire? <br /> Or have tasted the bag of the bee? <br /> Oh so white! Oh so soft! Oh so sweet is she!<br /><br />Benjamin Jonson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-celebration-of-charis-iv-her-triumph/
