NAY but you, who do not love her, Is she not pure gold, my mistress? Holds earth aught -- speak truth -- above her? Aught like this tress, see, and this tress, And this last fairest tress of all, So fair, see, ere I let it fall? Because you spend your lives in praising; To praise, you search the wide world over; Then why not witness, calmly gazing, If earth holds aught -- speak truth -- above her? Above this tress, and this, I touch But cannot praise, I love so much! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: DIRGE FOR WOLFRAM by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES TRULY GREAT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE TEARS OF THE POPLARS by EDITH MATILDA THOMAS CIRCUS AT NIGHT by MADELEINE AARON MEMENTO MORI by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS CONCLUDING VERSES, AFTER RETURNING HOME FROM AN AUTUMNAL MORNING WALK by BERNARD BARTON |