LET other bards of angels sing, Bright suns without a spot; But thou art no such perfect thing: Rejoice that thou art not! Heed not tho' none should call thee fair; So, Mary, let it be If nought in loveliness compare With what thou art to me. True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WIND IN A FROLIC by WILLIAM HOWITT THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER by THOMAS MOORE SONNET TO A CLAM by JOHN GODFREY SAXE THE TRANSLATED WAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A NAMELESS EPITAPH (2) by MATTHEW ARNOLD TO ONE WHO DIED LAST YEAR by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD TO MY TOTEM by HENRY CHARLES BEECHING |