Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it, For that your selfe ye dayly such doe see: But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me. For all the rest, how ever fayre it be, Shall turne to nought and loose that glorious hew: But onely that is permanent, and free From frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensew. That is true beautie: that doth argue you To be divine, and borne of heavenly seed, Deriv'd from that fayre Spirit from whom al true And perfect beauty did at first proceed. He onely fayre, and what he fayre hath made; All other fayre, lyke flowres, untymely fade. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SOUND OF THE TREES by ROBERT FROST LOVE AND TIME by WALTER RALEIGH SONNET PREFIXED TO 'NENNIO, OR A TREATISE OF NOBILITY' by EDMUND SPENSER TO MY FIANCEE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS KNAPWEED by ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON CLEVEDON VERSES: 7. NORTON WOOD (DORA'S BIRTHDAY) by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE LIFE THAT IS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |