O Lisabella, dost thou bid me praise Thy rose-red lips and all thy wealth of hair? Nay, should I sing them in a thousand ways, The world would never know how thou art fair. The Spring will better praise thee, for she knows Thy face is fairer than her fairest rose. Her sweetest rose less fair is than thou art; Her sharpest thorn is softer than thy heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLUEBELLS OF NEW ENGLAND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE MASTER BLACKSMITH by ARNOLD ANDREWS THE DAMSEL OF PERU by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT CONQUERING EAGLES by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON OSCAR OF ALVA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO A LADY, ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING ENGLAND by GEORGE GORDON BYRON SONGS OF THE SEA CHILDREN: 24 by BLISS CARMAN |