SWEET, heard you not fame's latest breath rehearse How I left hewing blocks to hack a verse, Now grown the master-log, while others be But shavings and the chips of poetry? And thus I saw deal-boards of beauty forth, To make my love a warehouse of her worth. Her legs are heart of oak, and columns stand To bear the amorous bulk; then, Muse, command That beech be work'd for thighs unto those legs, Turn'd round and carv'd, and joined fast with pegs. Contrive her belly round, a dining-room, When love and beauty will a-feasting come, Another storey make from waist to chin, With breasts like ports to nest young sparrows in. Then place the garret of her head above, Thatch'd with a yellow hair to keep in love. Thus have I finish'd beauty's master-prize, Were but the glazier here to make her eyes. Then, Muse, her outworks cease to raise, To work within, and wainscot her with praise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BRER RABBIT, YOU'S DE CUTES' OF 'EM ALL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE FRIENDLY WOOD by PAUL VALERY ON THE RUINS OF A COUNTRY INN by PHILIP FRENEAU TWILIGHT by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE NEW YORK AT NIGHT by AMY LOWELL THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 70. THE HILL-SUMMIT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |