The beauty of no woman to my flesh Is intimate spirit if she be not pale; I love not roses that are dewy fresh If on a cheek they tell no passionate tale; And passion is the after-sunset breath That withers them, wrinkling their petals white; Also, since love is next of kin to death, Let love foreshow the colours of that night. There is a whiteness of thrice mortal fire, And of this ardency immaculate, Which is the seal of perfected desire, The promise of desires yet passionate, I would some ardent weariness should speak: If not, I praise, but do not kiss, her cheek. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALL FOOLS' CALENDER by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON TO A YOUNG MAN ON THE PLATFORM OF A SUBWAY EXPRESS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SONNET: 9 by RICHARD BARNFIELD ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE FROM O-- by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 34 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 25. ELEGIAC VERSE: THE EIGHTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |