FROM A PAINTER.
My pencil I would take in hand
To paint a face so fair,
But all the skill I can command
Is useless I declare:
My blended colours when I view
And think upon thy face,
Carmine and pearl, at sight of you,
Must hold a distant place;
Yet if your portrait you will find,
Then with my wish comply,
Come hither, and, to ease my mind,
You’ll find it in each eye;
But far more perfect in my heart
Is that dear form of thine,
Then let me share an equal part
With thee, sweet Valentine.