The glorious pourtrait of that angels face, Made to amaze weake mens confused skil, And this worlds worthlesse glory to embase, What pen, what pencill, can expresse her fill? For though he colours could devize at will, And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide, Least, trembling, it his workmanship should spill, Yet many wondrous things there are beside. The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrowes glide, The charming smiles, that rob sence from the hart, The lovely pleasance, and the lofty pride, Cannot expressed be by any art. A greater craftesmans hand thereto doth neede, That can expresse the life of things indeed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BURNING OF THE TEMPLE by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): REMORSE by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS TO A CHILD OF THREE YEARS OLD by BERNARD BARTON A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 24 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |