'TIS very true, I thought you once as faire, As women in th' Idea are. Whatever here seems beauteous, seem'd to be But a faint Metaphor of Thee. But then (methoughts) there something shin'd within, Which cast this Lustre o're thy Skinne. Nor could I choose but count it the Sun's Light, Which made this Cloud appear so bright. But since I knew thy falshood and thy pride, And all thy thousand faults beside; A very Moore (methinks) plac'd near to Thee, White, as his Teeth, would seem to be. So men, (they say) by Hell's delusion led, Have ta'ne a Succubus to their bed; Believe it fair, and themselves happy call, 'Till the cleft Foot discovers all: Then they start from't, halfe Ghosts themselves with fear; And Devill as 'tis, it does appear. So since against my will I found Thee foul, Deform'd and crooked in thy Soule, My Reason strait did to my Senses shew, That they might be mistaken too: Nay when the world but knowes how false you are, There's not a Man will think you fair. Thy shape will monstrous in their fancies be, They'l call their Eyes as false as Thee. Be what thou wilt; hate will present thee so, As Puritans do the Pope, and Papists Luther do. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BITTER-SWEET: CRADLE SONG [OR, BABYHOOD] by JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND THE PROSPECTOR by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE EPISTLES ON THE CHARACTER AND CONDITION OF WOMEN: 1 by LUCY AIKEN THE END OF THE SUNSET TRAIL by ALMA C. BINGHAM THE KILN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN VALERIAN by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB SCOTTY'S WILD STUFF STEW by FRANCIS HUMPHRIS BROWN TO MY MISTRESS SITTING BY A RIVER'S SIDE; AN EDDY by THOMAS CAREW |