Thus smiles and words, so cruel and so bold,
So blushing wise, my thoughts in prison hold.
| Cold are her lips: | because they breathe no heat. |
| Not cold her lips: | because my heart they burn. |
| Ice are her hands: | because the snow's so great. |
| Not ice her hands: | that all to ashes turn. |
Thus lips and hands, cold ice, my sorrow bred;
Hands, warm white snow; and lips, cold cherry red.
| Small was her waist: | the waist that was not small. |
| Gold was her hair: | the hair that was not gold. |
| Tall was her shape: | the shape that was not tall. |
| Folding the arms: | the arms that did not fold. |
Thus hair and shape, those folding arms and waist,
Did make me love; and loving made me waste.
| Small was her waist[13]: | because I could it span. |
| Not small her waste: | because she wasted all. |
| Gold was her hair: | because a crown it wan. |
| Not gold her hair: | because it was more pale. |
Thus smallest waist[14], the greatest waste doth make;
And finest hair, most fast a lover take.
| Tall was her shape: | because she touched the sky. |
| Not tall her shape: | because she comely was. |
| Folding her arms: | because she hearts could tie, |
| Not folded arms: | because all bands they pass. |
Thus shape, and arms, with love my heart did fly;
That hers I am, and must be till I die.