DID not her globy front, and glistering hair,
With cheeks most sweet,
So gloriously like damask flowers appear,
The gods to greet?

Say, snow-white Lily, speckled Gillyflower,
With Daisy gay;
Since you have viewed the Queen of my desire,
In her array;
Did not her ivory paps, fair Venus’ bower,
With heavenly glee,
A Juno’s grace, conjure you to require
Her face to see?

Say Rose, say Daffodil, and Violet blue,
With Primrose fair,
Since ye have seen my nymph’s sweet dainty face
And gesture rare,
Did not (bright Cowslip, blooming Pink) her view
(White Lily) shine—
(Ah, Gillyflower, ah Daisy!) with a grace
Like stars divine?

SIR HENRY WOTTON

1568-1639

[178.]

Elizabeth of Bohemia

YOU meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes
More by your number than your light,
You common people of the skies;
What are you when the moon shall rise?

You curious chanters of the wood,
That warble forth Dime Nature’s lays,
Thinking your passions understood
By your weak accents; what’s your praise
When Philomel her voice shall raise?

You violets that first appear,
By your pure purple mantles known
Like the proud virgins of the year,
As if the spring were all your own;
What are you when the rose is blown?