Fair is my love, for April is her face, Her lovely breasts September claims his part, And lordly July in her eyes takes place; But old December dwelleth in her heart. Blest be the months that set my thoughts on fire, Accursed that month that hind'reth my desire! Like Phoebus' fire, so sparkle both her eyes; As air perfumed with amber is her breath; Like swelling waves her lovely teats do rise; As earth her heart, cold, dateth me to death. Ay me, poor man, that on the earth do live, When unkind earth death and despair doth give! In pomp sits Mercy seated in her face; Love 'twixt her breasts his trophies doth imprint; Her eyes shine favour, courtesy and grace; But touch her heart, ah, that is framed of flint! Therefore my harvest in the grass bears grain; The rock will wear washed with a winter's rain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHANSON D'AUTOMNE by PAUL VERLAINE EVENING by GEORGE WASHINGTON DOANE THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 17 by OMAR KHAYYAM A MATCH by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE IN THE GARDEN AT SWAINSTON (IN MEMORIAM - SIR JOHN SIMEON) by ALFRED TENNYSON THE HUSKERS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |