DESCENT of birth is a vain good, Doubtfully sprung from others' blood; Wealth, though it be the worldling's bait, Wise men but use to make up weight. Wit in a woman I scarce know, Whether it be a praise, or no: Beauty's a glorious flow'r, but gone And wither'd ere the spring be done. All these thou dost as jewels wear; But more thy own perfections are: For thine a nobler blood shall be, Whose pure descent flows but from thee. Thy wealth is goodness -- such a store As is more precious than the ore That loads the yearly fleets of Spain, For which the naked Indian's slain. Thy wit so chaste, thou might'st have been, Not Sappho, but the Sheba queen! A beauty thou thyself hast made, Whose rose and lily shall not fade. Set in the soul, not in the face -- That garden is a fading place. So small a piece! Then, if the work be shown, This would commend you most -- it is your own. Pardon, I can't express the thousand bliss I wish you; but the sum of all is this, I'll pray thou may'st so happy be As thy best-honour'd beadman is in thee; Except but heaven, and he that more will speak, I say, needs his expression must be weak. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PICKET-GUARD [NOVEMBER, 1861] by ETHEL LYNN BEERS THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 20 by THOMAS CAMPION A BORDER AFFAIR by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. THE WARM CRADLE by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA THE WORLD AND THE QUIETEST by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE POET'S TERROR AT THE BALIFFS OF EXETER, FR. FREEDOM: A POEM by ANDREW BRICE |