Triumph, The Triumph, The |
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Triumph, TheTriumph, The
Triumph, The
See the Chariot at hand here of Love,
Wherein my Lady rideth!
Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
And well the car Love guideth.
As she goes, all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty;
And enamour`d do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,
That they still were to run by her side,
Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.
Do but look on 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 soothe her;
And from her arch`d 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` strife.
Have you seen but a bright lily grow
Before rude hands have touch`d it?
Have you mark`d but the fall of the snow
Before the soil hath smutch`d it?
Have you felt the wool of beaver,
Or swan`s down ever?
Or have smelt o` the bud o` 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!
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