O Lisabella, dost thou bid me praise Thy rose-red lips and all thy wealth of hair? Nay, should I sing them in a thousand ways, The world would never know how thou art fair. The Spring will better praise thee, for she knows Thy face is fairer than her fairest rose. Her sweetest rose less fair is than thou art; Her sharpest thorn is softer than thy heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LETTERS TO DEAD IMAGISTS by CARL SANDBURG PROMETHEUS by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE GIRL OF ALL PERIODS; AN IDYLL by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 76. YA WALI by EDWIN ARNOLD |