I PRAISE thee not, Ariste, that thine eye Knows each emotion of the soul to speak; That lilies with thy face might fear to vie, And roses can but emulate thy cheek. I praise thee not because thine auburn hair In native tresses wantons on the wind; Nor yet because that face, surpassing fair, Bespeaks the inward excellence of mind: 'Tis that soft charm thy minstrel's heart has won, That mild meek goodness that perfects the rest; Soothing and soft it steals upon the breast, As the soft radiance of the setting sun, When varying through the purple hues of light, The fading orbit smiles serenely bright. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SANDALPHON by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW LONG LIVE LIFE by JACQUES BARON AT ROMEO'S TOMB by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR SIC VOS NON VOBIS by ADA CAMBRIDGE THE LAST LULLABY by GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE A HYMN FOR A CHILD THAT HAS UNGODLY PARENTS by WILLIAM COWPER |