As Nancy at her toilette sat, <br />Admiring this, and blaming that, <br />Tell me, she said, but tell me true, <br />The nymph who could your heart subdue. <br />What sort of charms does she possess? <br />Absolve me, fair one, I'll confess <br />With pleasure, I replied: Her hair, <br />In ringlets rather dark than fair, <br />Does down her ivory bosom roll, <br />And hiding half adorns the whole, <br />In her high forehead's fair half round <br />Love sits, in open triumph crown'd; <br />He, in the dimple of her chin, <br />In private state, by friends is seen. <br />Her eyes are neither black nor grey, <br />Nor fierce nor feeble is their ray; <br />Their dubious lustre seems to show <br />Something that speaks nor yes nor no. <br />Her lips no living bard, I weet, <br />May say how red, how round, how sweet: <br />Old Homer only could indite <br />Their vagrant grace and soft delight: <br />They stand recorded in his book, <br />When Helen smiled, and Hebe spoke - <br />The gypsy, turning to her glass, <br />Too plainly show'd she knew the face; <br />And which am I most like, she said, <br />Your Cloe or your Nut-brown Maid!<br /><br />Matthew Prior<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-right-name/
