This, sure, is Beauty's happiest part;
This gives the most unbounded sway;
This shall enchant the subject heart
When rose and lily fade away;
And she be still, in spite of Time,
Sweet Amoret, in all her prime.
Mark Akenside [1721-1770]
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The shape alone let others prize,
The features of the fair:
I look for spirit in her eyes,
And meaning in her air.
A damask cheek, an ivory arm,
Shall ne'er my wishes win:
Give me an animated form,
That speaks a mind within.
A face where awful honor shines,
Where sense and sweetness move,
And angel innocence refines
The tenderness of love.
These are the soul of beauty's frame;
Without whose vital aid
Unfinished all her features seem,
And all her roses dead.
But ah! where both their charms unite,
How perfect is the view,
With every image of delight,
With graces ever new:
Of power to charm the greatest woe,
The wildest rage control,
Diffusing mildness o'er the brow,
And rapture through the soul.