  LISTEN, bright lady, thy deep Pansie eyes Made never answer when my eyes did pray, Than with those quaintest looks of blank surprise. But my lovelonging hath devised a way To mock thy living image, from thy hair To thy rose toes; and keep thee by alway. My garden’s face is, oh! so maidly fair, With limbs all tapering, and with hues all fresh; Thine are the beauties all that flourish there. Amaranth, fadeless, tells me of thy flesh. Briar-rose knows thy cheek, the Pink thy pout, Bunched kisses dangle from the Woodbine mesh. I love to loll, when Daisy stars peep out, And hear the music of my garden dell, Hollyhock’s laughter and the Sunflower’s shout,— And many whisper things I dare not tell. |
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