O MY dearest, I shall grieve thee, When I swear (yet, sweet, believe me) By thine eyes, the tempting book On which even crabbed old men look, I swear to thee, (though none abhor them,) Yet I do not love thee for them. I do not love thee for that fair Rich fan of thy most curious hair; Though the wires thereof be drawn Finer than the threads of lawn, And are softer than the leaves On which the subtle spinner weaves. I do not love thee for those flowers Growing on thy cheeks (Love's bowers); Though such cunning them hath spread, None can part their white and red; Love's golden arrows thence are shot, Yet for them I love thee not. I do not love thee for those soft Red coral lips I 've kiss'd so oft; Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard To speech, whence music still is heard; Though from those lips a kiss being taken Might tyrants melt, and death awaken. I do not love thee, O my fairest! For that richest, for that rarest Silver pillar which stands under Thy round head, that globe of wonder; Though that neck be whiter far Than towers of polish'd ivory are. I do not love thee for those mountains Hill'd with snow, whence milky fountains (Sugar'd sweets, as syrup'd berries) Must one day run through pipes of cherries: O how much those breasts do move me! Yet for them I do not love thee. I do not love thee for that belly, Sleek as satin, soft as jelly; Though within that crystal mound Heaps of treasure might be found, So rich, that for the least of them A king might leave his diadem. I do not love thee for those thighs, Whose alabaster rocks do rise So high and even, that they stand Like sea-marks to some happy land: Happy are those eyes have seen them, More happy they that sail between them. I love thee not for thy moist palm, Though the dew thereof be balm; Nor for thy pretty leg and foot, Although it be the precious root On which this goodly cedar grows: Sweet, I love thee not for those. Nor for thy wit, though pure and quick, Whose substance no arithmetic Can number down; nor for those charms Mask'd in thy embracing arms; Though in them one night to lie, Dearest, I would gladly die. I love not for those eyes, nor hair, Nor cheeks, nor lips, nor teeth so rare; Nor for thy speech, thy neck, nor breast, Nor for thy belly, nor the rest; Nor for thy hand nor foot so small: But, wouldst thou know, dear sweet, for all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PINE-TREES AND THE SKY: EVENING by RUPERT BROOKE FRAGMENT THIRTY-SIX by HILDA DOOLITTLE SONNET (ON AN OLD BOOK WITH UNCUT LEAVES) by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR TERMINUS (1) by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL, FR. THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT SONGO RIVER; CONNECTING LAKE SEBAGO AND LONG LAKE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 92 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |