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, enamoured, 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 touched it? <br />Have you marked but the fall o' the snow <br />Before the soil hath smutched it? <br />Have you felt the wool of beaver? <br />Or swan's down ever? <br />Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier? <br />Or the nard in the fire? <br />Or have tasted the bag of the bee? <br />O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!<br /><br />Ben Jonson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-triumph-of-charis/
