What man with baseness so content, Or sick with false conceit of right, As not to know that the element And inmost warmth of love's delight Is honour? Who'd not rather kiss A duchess than a milkmaid, prank The two in equal grace, which is Precedent Nature's obvious rank? Much rather, then, a woman deck'd With saintly honours, chaste and good, Whose thoughts celestial things affect, Whose eyes express her heavenly mood! Those lesser vaunts are dimm'd or lost Which plume her name or paint her lip, Extinct in the deep-glowing boast Of her angelic fellowship. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BATTLE-SONG OF GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS by MICHAEL ALTENBURG OUTSIDE THE TOYSHOP by JANE BARLOW NEW YORK HARBOR by PARK BENJAMIN AUTUMN IN THE WEALD by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE FUNERAL OF ANTONIO GIANNO by STIRLING BOWEN APRIL by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |