The glorious pourtrait of that angels face, Made to amaze weake mens confused skil, And this worlds worthlesse glory to embase, What pen, what pencill, can expresse her fill? For though he colours could devize at will, And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide, Least, trembling, it his workmanship should spill, Yet many wondrous things there are beside. The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrowes glide, The charming smiles, that rob sence from the hart, The lovely pleasance, and the lofty pride, Cannot expressed be by any art. A greater craftesmans hand thereto doth neede, That can expresse the life of things indeed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLOOD HORSE by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER TO A HIGHLAND GIRL; AT INVERSNAID, UPON LOCH LOMOND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH DELAY by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES THE LAST MAN: ANTICIPATION OF EVIL TIDINGS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES DISCOVERY by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE WANDERER: 3. IN ENGLAND: 'MEDIO DE FONTE LEPORUM SURGIT AMARI..' by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |