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And fawn…like eyes still tremble as they glow。



From the Sanskrit of Calidasa





SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS

From 〃Epicoene〃



Still to be neat; still to be dressed

As you were going to a feast;

Still to be powdered; still perfumed:

Lady; it is to be presumed;

Though art's hid causes are not found;

All is not sweet; all is not sound。



Give me a look; give me a face;

That makes simplicity a grace;

Robes loosely flowing; hair as free:

Such sweet neglect more taketh me

Than all the adulteries of art;

They strike mine eyes; but not my heart。



Ben Jonson '1573?…1637'





DELIGHT IN DISORDER



A sweet disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness:

A lawn about the shoulders thrown

Into a fine distraction:

An erring lace; which here and there

Enthrals the crimson stomacher:

A cuff neglectful; and thereby

Ribbons to flow confusedly:

A winning wave; deserving note;

In the tempestuous petticoat:

A careless shoe…string; in whose tie

I see a wild civility:

Do more bewitch me than when art

Is too precise in every part。



Robert Herrick '1591…1674'





A PRAISE OF HIS LADY



Give place; you ladies; and begone!

Boast not yourselves at all!

For here at hand approacheth one

Whose face will stain you all。



The virtue of her lively looks

Excels the precious stone;

I wish to have none other books

To read or look upon。



In each of her two crystal eyes

Smileth a naked boy;

It would you all in heart suffice

To see that lamp of joy。



I think Nature hath lost the mould

Where she her shape did take;

Or else I doubt if Nature could

So fair a creature make。



She may be well compared

Unto the Phoenix kind;

Whose like was never seen nor heard;

That any man can find。



In life she is Diana chaste;

In truth Penelope;

In word and eke in deed steadfast。

What will you more we say?



If all the world were sought so far;

Who could find such a wight?

Her beauty twinkleth like a star

Within the frosty night。



Her roseal color comes and goes

With such a comely grace;

More ruddier; too; than doth the rose

Within her lively face。



At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet;

Nor at no wanton play;

Nor gazing in an open street;

Nor gadding as a stray。



The modest mirth that she doth use

Is mixed with shamefastness;

All vice she doth wholly refuse;

And hateth idleness。



O Lord! it is a world to see

How virtue can repair;

And deck her in such honesty;

Whom Nature made so fair。



Truly she doth so far exceed

Our women nowadays;

As doth the gillyflower a weed;

And more a thousand ways。



How might I do to get a graff

Of this unspotted tree?

For all the rest are plain but chaff;

Which seem good corn to be。



This gift alone I shall her give:

When death doth what he can;

Her honest fame shall ever live

Within the mouth of man。



John Heywood '1497?…1580?'





ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT



I know a thing that's most uncommon;

(Envy; be silent and attend!)

I know a reasonable woman;

Handsome and witty; yet a friend。



Not warped by passion; awed by rumor;

Not grave through pride; nor gay through folly;

An equal mixture of good…humor

And sensible soft melancholy。



〃Has she no faults then; (Envy says); Sir?〃

Yes; she has one; I must aver:

When all the world conspires to praise her;

The woman's deaf; and does not hear。



Alexander Pope '1688…1744'





PERFECT WOMAN



She was a phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely apparition; sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;

Like twilight's; too; her dusky hair;

But all things else about her drawn

From May…time and the cheerful dawn;

A dancing shape; an image gay;

To haunt; to startle; and waylay。



I saw her upon nearer view;

A Spirit; yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free;

And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet

Sweet records; promises as sweet;

A creature not too bright or good

For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows; simple wiles;

Praise; blame; love; kisses; tears; and smiles。



And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;

A being breathing thoughtful breath;

A traveller between life and death;

The reason firm; the temperate will;

Endurance; foresight; strength; and skill;

A perfect Woman; nobly planned;

To warn; to comfort; and command;

And yet a Spirit still; and bright

With something of angelic light。



William Wordsworth '1770…1850'





THE SOLITARY…HEARTED



She was a queen of noble Nature's crowning;

A smile of hers was like an act of grace;

She had no winsome looks; no pretty frowning;

Like daily beauties of the vulgar race:

But if she smiled; a light was on her face;

A clear; cool kindliness; a lunar beam

Of peaceful radiance; silvering o'er the stream

Of human thought with unabiding glory;

Not quite a waking truth; not quite a dream;

A visitation; bright and transitory。



But she is changed; … hath felt the touch of sorrow;

No love hath she; no understanding friend;

O grief! when Heaven is forced of earth to borrow

What the poor niggard earth has not to lend;

But when the stalk is snapped; the rose must bend。

The tallest flower that skyward rears its head

Grows from the common ground; and there must shed

Its delicate petals。  Cruel fate; too surely;

That they should find so base a bridal bed;

Who lived in virgin pride; so sweet and purely。



She had a brother; and a tender father;

And she was loved; but not as others are

From whom we ask return of love; … but rather

As one might love a dream; a phantom fair

Of something exquisitely strange and rare;

Which all were glad to look on; men and maids;

Yet no one claimed … as oft; in dewy glades;

The peering primrose; like a sudden gladness;

Gleams on the soul; yet unregarded fades; …

The joy is ours; but all its own the sadness。



'Tis vain to say … her worst of grief is only

The common lot; which all the world have known;

To her 'tis more; because her heart is lonely;

And yet she hath no strength to stand alone; …

Once she had playmates; fancies of her own;

And she did love them。  They are passed away

As Fairies vanish at the break of day;

And like a spectre of an age departed;

Or unsphered Angel wofully astray;

She glides along … the solitary…hearted。



Hartley Coleridge '1796…1849'





OF THOSE WHO WALK ALONE



Women there are on earth; most sweet and high;

Who lose their own; and walk bereft and lonely;

Loving that one lost heart until they die;

Loving it only。



And so they never see beside them grow

Children; whose coming is like breath of flowers;

Consoled by subtler loves the angels know

Through childless hours。



Good deeds they do: they comfort and they bless

In duties others put off till the morrow;

Their look is balm; their touch is tenderness

To all in sorrow。



Betimes the world smiles at them; as 'twere shame;

This maiden guise; long after youth's departed;

But in God's Book they bear another name …

〃The faithful…hearted。〃



Faithful in life; and faithful unto death;

Such souls; in sooth; illume with lustre splendid

That glimpsed; glad land wherein; the Vision saith;

Earth's wrongs are ended。



Richard Burton '1861…





〃SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY〃



She walks in beauty; like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies。



One shade the more; one ray the less;

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure; how dear their dwelling…place。



And on that cheek; and o'er that brow

So soft; so calm; yet eloquent;

The smiles that win; the tints that glow;

But tell of days in goodness spent;

A mind at peace with all below;

A heart whose love is innocent!



George Gordon Byron '1788…1824'





PRELUDES

From 〃The Angel in the House〃



I

UNTHRIFT



Ah; wasteful woman; she that may

On her sweet self set her own price;

Knowing man cannot choose but pay;

How has she cheapened paradise;

How given for nought her priceless gift;

How spoiled the bread; and spilled the wine;

Which; spent with due; respective thrift;

Had made brutes men; and men divine。



II

HONOR AND DESERT



O Queen; awake to thy renown;

Require what 'tis our wealth to give;

And comprehend and wear the crown

Of thy despised prerogative!

I; who in manhood's name at length

With glad songs come to abdicate

The gross regality of strength;

Must yet in this thy praise abate;

That; through thine erring humbleness

And disregard o

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