CARISSIMA MEA.

I look upon my lady's face,

And, in the world about me, see

No face like hers in any place:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.

It is not made, as others sing

Of their dear loves, like ivory,

But like a wild rose in the spring:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.

Her brow is low and very fair,

And o'er it, smooth and shadowy,

Lies deep the darkness of her hair:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.

Beneath her brows her eyes are gray,

And gaze out glad and fearlessly,

Their wonder haunts me night and day:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.

Her eyebrows, arched and delicate,

Twin curves of pencilled ebony,

Within their spans contain my fate:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.

Her mouth, that was for kisses curved,

So small and sweet, it well may be

That it for me is yet reserved:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.

Between her hair and rounded chin,

Calm with her soul's calm purity,

There lies no shadow of a sin:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.

Of perfect form, she is not tall,

Just higher than the heart of me,

Where'er I place her, all in all:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.

She is not shaped, as some have sung

Of their dear loves, like some slim tree,

But like the moon when it is young:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.

Her hands, that smell of violet,

So white and fashioned gracefully,

Have woven round my heart a net:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.

Yea, I have loved her many a day;

And though for me she may not be,

Still at her feet my love I lay:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.

Albeit she be not for me,

GOD send her grace and grant that she

Know nought of sorrow all her days:

Therefore it is I sing her praise.