MY Love in her attire doth show her wit, It doth so well become her; For every season she hath dressings fit, For winter, spring, and summer. No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on; But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EXILE OF ERIN by THOMAS CAMPBELL TWO SONGS: 2 by CECIL DAY LEWIS THE JEW TO JESUS by FLORENCE KIPER FRANK BOATS IN A FOG by ROBINSON JEFFERS NOVEMBER, 1806 by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH BROWN PENNY by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS FRATERNITY by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH AH, BIND MY HANDS by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS STANZAS ON FINDING THE KEY OF AN OLD PIANO by E. JUSTINE BAYARD |