Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A DESCRIPTION, by EDWARD HERBERT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A DESCRIPTION, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I sing her worth and praises high
Last Line: Two alabaster pillars stand,
Alternate Author Name(s): Cherbury, 1st Baron Herbert Of; Herbert Of Cherbury, Edward Herbert, 1st Baron; Herbert Of Cherbury, Lord
Subject(s): Beauty


I sing her worth and praises high,
Of whom a poet cannot lie.
The little world the great shall blaze:
Sea, earth her body; heaven her face;
Her hair sunbeams, whose every part
Lightens, inflames each lover's heart,
That thus you prove the axiom truce,
Whilst the sun help'd nature in you.
Her front the white and azure sky,
In light and glory raised high;
Being o'ercast by a cloudy frown,
All hearts and eyes dejecteth down.
Her each brow a celestial bow,
Which through this sky her light doth show,
Which doubled, if it strange appear,
The sun's likewise is doubled there.
Her either cheek a blushing morn,
Which, on the wings of beauty borne,
Doth never set, but only fair
Shineth, exalted in her hair.
Within her mouth, heaven's heav'n, reside
Her words: the soul's there glorifi'd.
Her nose th' equator of this globe,
Where nakedness, beauty's best robe,
Presents a form all hearts to win.
Last Nature made that dainty chin,
Which, that it might in every fashion
Answer the rest, a constellation.
Like to a desk, she there did place
To write the wonders of her face.
In this celestial frontispiece,
Where happiness eternal lies,
First arranged stand three senses,
This heaven's intelligences,
Whose several motions, sweet combin'd,
Come from the first mover, her mind.
The weight of this harmonic sphere
The Atlas of her neck doth bear,
Whose favours day to us imparts,
When frowns make night in lover's hearts.
Two foaming billows are her breasts,
That carry rais'd upon their crests
The Tyrian fish: more white's their foam
Than that whence Venus once did come.
Here take her by the hand, my Muse,
With that sweet foe to make my truce,
To compact manna best compar'd,
Whose dewy inside's not full hard.
Her waist's an invers'd pyramis,
Upon whose cone love's trophy is.
Her belly is that magazine
At whose peep Nature did resign
That precious mould by which alone
There can be framed such a one.
At th' entrance of which hidden treasure,
Happy making above measure,
Two alabaster pillars stand,






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