WHAT IS THE PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF YOUR LADY-LOVE?
Must you have my picture?
You will enjoin me to a strange punishment.
With what a compell'd face a woman sits
While she is drawing! I have noted divers
Either to fain smiles, or suck in the lips,
To have a little mouth; ruffle the cheeks,
To have the dimple seen; and so disorder
The face with affectation, at next sitting
It has not been the same.
—But indeed
If ever I would have mine drawn to the life,
I would have a painter steal it at such a time
I were devoutly kneeling at my prayers;
There is then a heavenly beauty in't, the soul
Moves in the superficies.
John Webster—
The Devil's Law Case. A Tragi-Comedy.
From Lamb's Specimens of Dramatic Poets.
WHAT IS THE PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF YOUR LADY-LOVE?
Her eyes are shadowy, full of thought and prayer,
And with long lashes o'er a white rose cheek
Drooping.
Mrs. Hemans.
2. A thing all lightness, life, and glee,
One of the shapes we seem
To meet in visions of the night,
And should they greet our waking sight,
Imagine that we dream.
George Hill.
3. A lovelier nymph the pencil never drew;
For the fond Graces form'd her easy mien,
And heaven's soft azure in her eye is seen.
She seems a rose-bud when it first receives
The genial sun in its expanding leaves.
4. Eyes
As tender as the blue of weeping skies,
Yet sunny in their radiance as that blue,
When sunset glitters on its falling dew.
John Neal.
5. She bends beneath the weight of dress,
The stiffen'd robes, which spoil her easy mien,
And art mistaken makes her beauty less,
While still it hides some beauties better seen.
Hammond—Love Elegies.
6. There is a sweetness in her upturn'd eyes,
A tearful lustre, such as fancy lends
To the Madonna, and a soft surprise,
As if they found strange beauty in the air.
Park Benjamin.
7. Her soft, clear eyes, deep in their tenderness,
Reflect all beautiful and kindly things.
She would seem infantile, but that her brow
In lilied majesty uptowers, and tells
That lofty thoughts and chasten'd pride are there.
Mrs. Gilman.
8. Oh, the words
Laugh on her lips; the motion of her smiles
Showers beauty, as the air-caressed spray
The dews of morning; and her stately steps
Are light, as though a winged angel trod
Over earth's flowers, and fear'd to brush away
Their delicate hues.
Milman—Fazio.
9. She has ane e'e, she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very color;
Five rusty teeth forbye a stump,
A clapper tongue would deave a miller.
Burns.
10. She lacks the beauty of a "damask skin,"
But there are roses lying near at hand,
To spring unto her cheek; oft from within
They come, called up at feeling's high command,
And on the glowing surface long remain.
Mrs. M. S. B. Dana.
11. If on her we see display'd
Pendent gems, and rich brocade,
If her chintz with less expense
Flows in easy negligence,
If she strikes the vocal strings,
If she's silent, speaks, or sings,
If she sit, or if she move,
Still we love and we approve.
Dr. Johnson.
12. Her laugh is like a fairy's laugh,
So musical and sweet;
Her foot is like a fairy's foot,
So dainty and so fleet.
Her smile is fitful sunshine,
Her hand is dimpled snow,
Her lip a very rose-bud
In sweetness and in glow.
Mrs. Osgood.
13. A thoughtful and a quiet grace,
Though happy still;—yet chance distress
Hath left a pensive loveliness;
Fancy hath tamed her fairy gleams,
And her heart broods o'er home-born dreams.
Wilson.
14. Her swollen eyes are much disfigured,
And her faire face with tears
Is foully blubbered.
Spenser.
15. A downcast eye, repentant of the pain
That its mild light creates.
Keats.
16. Not fairer grows the lily of the vale,
Whose bosom opens to the vernal gale;
While health that rises with the new-born day,
Breathes o'er her cheek the softest blush of May.
Falconer—Shipwreck.
17. Fairest where all is beautiful and bright!
With what a grace she glides among the flowers
That smile around her, bowing at her touch.
Gallagher.
18. On her cheek an autumn flush
Deeply ripens;—such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.
Around her eyes her tresses lay,
Which are blackest, none can say;
But long lashes veil a light,
That had else been all too bright.
Hood.
19. Ne in her speach, ne in her haviour
Is lightnesse seene, or looser vanitie;
But gratious womanhood and gravitie,
Above the reason of her youthly yeares.
Her golden locks she roundly doth uptye,
In braided trammels, that ne looser heares
Do out of order stray about her daintie eares.
Spenser.
20. A silver line, that from the brow to the crown,
And in the middle, parts the braided hair,
Just serves to show how delicate a soil
The golden harvest grows in; while those eyes,
Soft and capacious as a cloudless sky,
Whose azure depth their colour emulates,
Must needs be conversant with upward looks,
Prayer's voiceless service.
Wordsworth.
21. Half the charms that deck her face,
Arise from powder, shreds, and lace.
Goldsmith.
22. Time from her form has ta'en away but little of its grace,
His touch of thought hath dignified the beauty of her face.
Bayley.
23. 'Tis strange,
That though you study long, you cannot tell
The color of her eye, that seems to change,
Beneath the ivory lid, from brilliant black
To liquid hazel, then to full soft gray,
Fast melting into violet.
Miss M. E. Lee.
24. Her face is heaven's bow in showers. Her dark hair flows round it like streaming clouds.
Ossian.
25. She has an innocently downcast look,
And when she raises up her eyes of blue,
It seems as if her features were a book,
Where sweet affection letters love for you.
Rufus Dawes.
26. Indeed she has a marvellous white hand,
I must needs confess.
Troilus and Cressida.
27. I never saw a crowned queen,
With such a noble air,
So angel-like, so womanly,
As is your lady fair.
Mary Howitt.
28. Around her playful lips do glitter
Heat lightnings of a girlish scorn,
Harmless they are, for nothing bitter
In that dear heart was ever born.
That merry heart, that cannot lie
Within its warm nest quietly,
But ever from the full dark eye
Is looking kindly, night and morn.
J. R. Lowell.
29. Oh, her glance is the brightest that ever has shone,
And the lustre of love's on her cheek;
But all the bewildering enchantment is gone
The moment you hear her speak.
Mrs. Ellet.
30. The rose, with faint and feeble streak,
So slightly marks the maiden's cheek,
That you would say her hue is pale;
But if she face the Southern gale,
Or speaks, or sings, or quicker moves,
Or hears the praise of those she loves,
Or when of interest is express'd
Aught that wakes feeling in her breast,
The mantling blood in ready play
Rivals the blush of opening day.
Scott—Rokeby.
31. She dresses aye sae clean and neat,
Both decent and genteel;
And then there's something in her gait
Gars ony dress look weel.
Burns.
32. 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.
Byron.
33. Eyes of the gray,
The soft gray of the brooding dove,
Full of the sweet and tender ray
Of holy love.
Mrs. Norton.
34. I saw her hand—she has a leathern hand,
A freestone color'd hand. I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hand;
She has a housewife's hand!
As You Like It.
35. The fashion of her gracefulness is not a follow'd rule,
And her effervescent sprightliness was never taught at school;
Her words are all peculiar, like the fairy's that spoke pearls,
And her tone is ever sweetest 'mid the cadences of girls.
Willis.
36. There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip;
Nay, her foot speaks.
Troilus and Cressida.
37. She has that changing color on the cheek,
Which speaks the heart so well; those deep blue eyes,
Like summer's darkest sky, yet not so glad;
They are too passionate for happiness.
Miss Landon.
38. There is a light around her brow,
A holiness in those dark eyes,
Which show, though wandering earthward now,
Her spirit's home is in the skies.
Moore.
39. A still, sweet, placid, moonlight face,
And slightly nonchalant,
Which seems to hold a middle place
Between one's love and aunt.
Where childhood's star has left a ray
In woman's summer sky,
As morning's dew and blushing day
On fruit and blossom lie.
O. W. Holmes.
40. A bright, frank brow, that has not learn'd to blush at gaze of man.
Macaulay—Lays of Ancient Rome.
41. If to her share some female errors fall,
Look in her face, and you'll forget them all.
Hayley—Triumphs of Temper.
42. Quips, and cranks, and playful wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek.
Milton—Comus.
43. Excellently done, if God did all.
Twelfth Night.
44. A ruby lip
First dawns; then glows the young cheek's deeper hue,
Yet delicate as roses when they dip
Their odorous blossoms in the morning dew.
Then beam the eyes, twin stars of living blue,
Half shaded by the curls of glossy hair,
That turn to gold in the West's golden glare.
Croly—Angel of the World.
45. Love glower'd[A] when he saw her bonnie dark e'e,
'An swore by heaven's grace,
He ne'er had seen, nor thought to see,
Since e'er he left the Paphian lea,
Mair lovely a dwallin' place.
William Thom.
[A] Stared with surprise.
46. An angel-face! its sunny "wealth of hair,"
In radiant ripples, bathes the graceful throat,
And dimpled shoulders; round the rosy curve
Of the sweet mouth, a smile seems wandering ever,
While in the depths of azure fire that gleams
Beneath the drooping lashes, sleeps a world
Of eloquent meaning—passionate, but pure;
Dreamy, subdued, but O, how beautiful!
Mrs. Osgood.
47. Do but look in her eyes, they do light
All that Love's world compriseth:
Do but look on her hair, it is bright
As Love's star when it riseth!
Do but mark, her forehead's smoother
Than words that sooth her,
And from her arched brows such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,
As alone there triumphs to the life,
All the gain, all the good, of the elements at strife.
Ben Jonson.
48. When first you look upon her face,
You little note, beside
The timidness, that still betrays
The beauties it would hide;
But, one by one, they look out from
Her blushes and her eyes,
And still the last the loveliest,
Like stars from twilight skies.
George Hill.
49. Endearing! endearing!
Why so endearing
Are those dark lustrous eyes,
Through their silk fringe peering?
They love thee! they love thee!
Deeply, sincerely;
And more than aught else on earth,
Thou lov'st them dearly.
Motherwell.
50. In face an angel, but in soul a cat!
Dr. Wolcott—Peter Pindar.
51. Her feet beat witchcraft as she heads the dance,
Lads, like a garland, hem her round about,
While Love rains on them from her dark eye-glance.
The maidens near her, tittering, take their stance,
And on her swan-white neck, and snowy arms,
Her small and nimble feet, they look askance;
The hoary fiddler, as he listens, warms,
And draws a lustier bow, and gazes on her charms.
Allan Cunningham.
52. A cheek, fair
And delicate as rose-leaf newly blown—
A brow like marble—lofty, and profuse
With the rich brown of her o'ergathering hair.
W. G. Simms.
53. Such her beauty, as no arts
Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace;
Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place.
Folly boasts a glorious blood,
She is noblest, being good.
Habington.
54. O'er her features steal, serenely mild,
The trembling sanctity of woman's truth,
Her modesty, and simpleness, and grace;
Yet those who deeper scan the human face,
Amid the trial-hour of fear or ruth,
May clearly read, upon its heaven-writ scroll,
That high and firm resolve, which nerved the Roman soul.
Mrs. Sigourney.
55. On her forehead sitteth pride,
Crown'd with scorn, and falcon-eyed;
But she beneath, methinks, doth twine
Silken smiles, that seem divine.
Can such smiles be false and cold?
Can she, will she wed for gold?
Barry Cornwall.
56. Oh! her beauty is fair to see,
But still and steadfast is her e'e,
And the soft desire of maiden's e'en,
In that mild face can never be seen.
Her seymat is the lily flower,
And her cheek the moss-rose in a shower,
And her voice, like the distant melody
That floats along the twilight sea.
But she lo'es to raike the lonely glen,
And keep afar frae the haunts o' men.
Hogg—Queen's Wake.
57. 'Tis not her eye or lip we beauty call,
But the joint force and full result of all.
Pope.
58. Her face is very beautiful, and mirth
Is native on her lip; but ever, now,
As a sweet tone delighteth her, the smile
Goes melting into sadness, and the lash
Droops gently to her eye, as if it knew
Affection was too chaste a thing for mirth.
Willis.
59. Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Have you mark'd but the fall o' the snow,
Before the soil hath smutch'd it?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver?
Or swan's-down ever?
Or have smelt o' the bud of the brier?
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!
Ben Jonson.
60. Her nose is crook'd, and turn'd outwarde,
Her chin stands all awry;
A worse formed lady than she is,
Was never seen with eye.
Her haires like serpents cling aboute
Her cheekes of deadlye hewe;
A worse form'd ladye than she is
No man mote ever view.
Percy's Reliques—The Marriage of Sir Gawaine.