Beauty. Spenser

FOR sure of all that in this mortal frame
Contained is, nought more Divine doth seem,
Or that resembleth more th' immortal flame
Of heavenly light, than Beauty's glorious beam.
What wonder then if with such rage extreme
Frail men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to see,
At sight thereof so much enravish'd be?

Beauty.-Mrs. Tighe.

OH! how refreshing seem'd the breathing wind
To her faint limbs! and while her snowy hands
From her fair brow her golden hair unbind,
And of her zone unloose the silken bands,
More passing bright unveil'd her Beauty stands;
For faultless was her Form as Beauty's Queen,
And every winning grace that Love demands,
With wild attemper'd dignity was seen

Play o'er each lovely limb, and deck her angel mien.
Beauty.-Byron.

SUCH was

!-such around her shone

The nameless Charms unmark'd by her alone;

The Light of Love, the Purity of Grace,

The Mind, the Music breathing from her Face,

The Heart whose softness harmonized the whole

And, oh! that Eye was in itself a Soul!

Beauty.-Shakspeare.

FAIR Ladies, mask'd, are Roses in their Bud: Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, Are Angels vailing Clouds, or Roses blown.

Beauty.-Scott.

THERE was a soft and pensive Grace,
A cast of thought upon her Face,
That suited well the Forehead high,
The Eye-lash dark, and downcast Eye:
The mild Expression spoke a mind
In duty firm, composed, resign'd.

Beauty. Spenser.

EVERY Spirit as it is most pure, And hath in it the more of heavenly light, So it the fairer Body doth procure

To habit in

For of the Soul the Body form doth take,

For Soul is form and doth the Body make.

Beauty. Byron.

SHE was a Form of Life and Light,
That, seen, became a part of sight,
And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye,
The Morning-star of Memory!

Beauty. Shakspeare.

My Beauty, though but mean,

Needs not the painted flourish of your praise;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues.

Beauty.-Moore.

WHILE she, who sang so gently to the lute
Her dream of home, steals timidly away,
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,
But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain,
Creatures of light we never see again!

Beauty. Byron.

BUT Virtue's self, with all her tightest laces,
Has not the natural stays of strict old age;

And Socrates, that model of all duty,

Own'd to a penchant, though discreet, for Beauty.

Beauty. Shakspeare.

SINCE brass nor stone, nor earth nor boundless sea,
But sad Mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall Beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall Summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful Meditation! where, alack,

Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back ?
Or who his spoil of Beauty can forbid?

Beauty.-Shakspeare.

'TIS Beauty truly blent, whose red and white

Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:

Lady, you are the cruell'st She alive,

If you will lead these graces to the grave,

And leave the world no copy.

Leaning half rais'd, with looks of cordial love
Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld
Beauty, which whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces.

Beauty.-Moore.

EV'N then, her Presence had the power

To soothe, to warm,-nay, ev'n to bless-
If ever bliss could graft its flower

On stem so full of bitterness

Ev'n then her glorious Smile to me

Brought warmth and radiance, if not balm,
Like Moonlight on a troubled sea,

Brightening the storm it cannot calm.
Beauty.-Pope.

YET graceful Ease, and Sweetness void of Pride,
Might hide her faults, if Belles had faults to hide :

If to her share some female errors fall,

Look on her Face, and you'll forget 'em all.

Beauty. Shakspeare.

I SAW Sweet Beauty in her Face,

Such as the daughter of Agenor had,

That made great Jove to humble him to her hand,
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand.
I saw her coral Lips to move,
And with her Breath she did perfume the air:
Sacred and sweet, was all I saw in her.
Beauty. Ben Jonson.
GIVE me a Look, give me a Face,
That makes Simplicity a Grace;
Robes loosely flowing, Hair as free!
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all the adulteries of art;

That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

FROM every blush that kindles in thy Cheeks,
Ten thousand little Loves and Graces spring
To revel in the Roses.

Beauty. — Shakspeare.

OH, She doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her Beauty hangs upon the cheek of Night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:

Beauty too rich for use, for Earth too dear.

Beauty. Shakspeare,
MOVE these eyes?

Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,

Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd Lips,
Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar

Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her Hairs
The painter plays the spider; and hath woven
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,
Faster than gnats in cobwebs: but her Eyes,-
How could he see to do them? having made one,
Methinks it should have power to steal both his,
And leave itself unfinish'd.

Beauty. — Joanna Baillie.

TO make the cunning artless, tame the rude,
Subdue the haughty, shake th' undaunted soul;
Yea, put a bridle in the lion's mouth,

And lead him forth as a domestic cur,

These are the triumphs of all-powerful Beauty!
Beauty.-Shakspeare.
HER Stature, as wand-like straight,

As silver-voiced; her Eyes as Jewel-like,
And cased as richly; in pace another Juno;

Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry, The more she gives them speech.

Beauty.- Shakspeare.

BEAUTY is but a vain and doubtful Good,
A shining Glass, that fadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glass, that's broken presently;
A doubtful Good, a Gloss, a Glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as Good lost, is seld or never found,
As fading Gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken Glass no Cement can redress,
So Beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.
Beauty.-Joanna Baillie.
WITH Goddess-like demeanor forth she went,
Not unattended, for on her as Queen
A pomp of winning Graces waited still,
And from about her shot darts of desire
Into all eyes to wish her still in sight.

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Beauty. — Addison.

"TIS not a set of Features, or Complexion,
The tincture of a Skin, that I admire :
Beauty soon grows familiar to the Lover,
Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense.

Beauty. - Thomson.

HER form was fresher than the morning Rose,
When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd and pure,
As is the Lily, or the mountain Snow.

Beauty.-Shakspeare.

HER lily Hand her rosy Cheek lies under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss:
Without the bed her other fair Hand was,
On the green coverlet whose perfect white
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass,
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of Night.
Her Eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their light;
And, canopied in darkness, sweetly lay,
Till they might open to adorn the day.

Beauty. Thomson.

A NATIVE Grace
Sat fair-proportion'd on her polish'd Limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of dress: for Loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of Ornament,
But is when unadorn'd adorn'd the most.

Beauty.- Shakspeare.

SHE looks as clear

As morning Roses newly wash'd with Dew.
Beauty. - Joanna Baillie.
WHEN I approach
Her Loveliness, so absolute she seems
And in herself complete, so well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say,
Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best;
All higher knowledge in her Presence falls
Degraded, Wisdom in discourse with her
Lose discount'nanc'd, and like Folly shows.
Beauty. - Young.

WHAT tender force, what dignity divine,
What virtue consecrating every Feature;

Around that Neck what dross are gold and pearl!