O MY dearest, I shall grieve thee, When I swear (yet, sweet, believe me) By thine eyes, the tempting book On which even crabbed old men look, I swear to thee, (though none abhor them,) Yet I do not love thee for them. I do not love thee for that fair Rich fan of thy most curious hair; Though the wires thereof be drawn Finer than the threads of lawn, And are softer than the leaves On which the subtle spinner weaves. I do not love thee for those flowers Growing on thy cheeks (Love's bowers); Though such cunning them hath spread, None can part their white and red; Love's golden arrows thence are shot, Yet for them I love thee not. I do not love thee for those soft Red coral lips I 've kiss'd so oft; Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard To speech, whence music still is heard; Though from those lips a kiss being taken Might tyrants melt, and death awaken. I do not love thee, O my fairest! For that richest, for that rarest Silver pillar which stands under Thy round head, that globe of wonder; Though that neck be whiter far Than towers of polish'd ivory are. I do not love thee for those mountains Hill'd with snow, whence milky fountains (Sugar'd sweets, as syrup'd berries) Must one day run through pipes of cherries: O how much those breasts do move me! Yet for them I do not love thee. I do not love thee for that belly, Sleek as satin, soft as jelly; Though within that crystal mound Heaps of treasure might be found, So rich, that for the least of them A king might leave his diadem. I do not love thee for those thighs, Whose alabaster rocks do rise So high and even, that they stand Like sea-marks to some happy land: Happy are those eyes have seen them, More happy they that sail between them. I love thee not for thy moist palm, Though the dew thereof be balm; Nor for thy pretty leg and foot, Although it be the precious root On which this goodly cedar grows: Sweet, I love thee not for those. Nor for thy wit, though pure and quick, Whose substance no arithmetic Can number down; nor for those charms Mask'd in thy embracing arms; Though in them one night to lie, Dearest, I would gladly die. I love not for those eyes, nor hair, Nor cheeks, nor lips, nor teeth so rare; Nor for thy speech, thy neck, nor breast, Nor for thy belly, nor the rest; Nor for thy hand nor foot so small: But, wouldst thou know, dear sweet, for all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO JOHN DONNE (1) by BEN JONSON TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE SECOND DAY: LADY WENTWORTH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW IN APIA BAY by CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS LOVE SONG by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS SONG OF THE SPANISH JEWS by GRACE AGUILAR LOVE'S CHANGE by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH TO HAFIZ by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |