“Gay hair, more gay than straw when harvest lies,
Lips red and plump as cherries’ ruddy side,
Eyes fair and great, like fair great ox’s eyes, . . .
. . . Flesh as soft as wool new dressed,
And yet as hard as brawn made hard by art.”
Like a bird in a bush, the strong, healthy girl shows her decorations with enthusiastic willingness, yet shyly, flitting betimes and keeping quite out of reach, while apparently not thinking of danger. Even the wild lass, saucing Daphnis from the doorway of her cave, knew perfectly well that he would hang his head and pass by. She was σὑνοφρυς κὁρα; that is, her eyebrows ran together across her nose, which was not as unfortunate as Herrick’s sort of girl, who was—
“One of those
That an acre hath of nose.”
Why will the thought of berries come up? Dear old Suckling gave vent to it thus:—
“No grape that’s kindly ripe could be