Female Beauty

What's Female Beauty, but an Art divine,
Through which the Mind's all gentle Graces shine?
They like the Sun irradiate all between;
The Body charms, because the Mind is seen.

Mark Akenside

Mark Akenside was an 18th-century English poet and physician best known for his poem 'The Pleasures of Imagination,' which was first published in 1744. He was born on November 9, 1721, in Newcastle upon Tyne and received his education at the Royal Grammar School, Newcastle, and the University of Edinburgh. Akenside's work was deeply influenced by the Enlightenment and classical antiquity. He also pursued a successful medical career, becoming a fellow of the Royal College of Physicians in 1753. Akenside died on June 23, 1770.

Mark Akenside

For A Grotto

Mark Akenside, Simple Poetry

Ode III; To The Cuckow

Mark Akenside, Simple Poetry

Amoret

Mark Akenside, Simple Poetry

The Pleasures of Imagination - The Fourth Book - Poem

Mark Akenside, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

A Song

The Shape alone let others prize,
The Features of the Fair;
I look for Spirit in her Eyes,
And Meaning in her Air.
A Damask Cheek, an Iv'ry Arm,
Shall ne'er my Wishes win,
Give me an animated Form,
That speaks a Mind within.
A Face where awful Honour shines,
Where Sense and Sweetness move,
And Angel Innocence refines,
The Tenderness of Love.

These are the Soul of Beauty's frame,
Without whose vital Aid,
Unfinish'd all her Features seem,
And all her Roses dead.
But ah! where both their Charms unite,
How perfect is the View,
With ev'ry Image of Delight,
With Graces ever new.
Of Pow'r to charm the greatest Woe,
The wildest Rage control,
Diffusing Mildness o'er the Brow,
And Rapture thro' the Soul.
Their Pow'r but fain...

Mark Akenside

Beauty.

Beauty's no other but a lovely grace
Of lively colours flowing from the face.

Robert Herrick

Her Beauty

Her true beauty leaves behind
Apprehensions in my mind
Of more sweetness than all art
Or inventions can impart;
Thoughts too deep to be expressed,
And too strong to be suppressed....
... What pearls, what rubies can
Seem so lovely fair to man,
As her lips whom he doth love
When in sweet discourse they move:
Or her lovelier teeth, the while
She doth bless him with a smile!
Stars indeed fair creatures be;
Yet amongst us where is he
Joys not more the whilst he lies
Sunning in his mistress' eyes.
Than in all the glimmering light
Of a starry winter's night?
    Note the beauty of an eye,
And if aught you praise it by
Leave such passion in your mind,
Let my reason's eye be blind.
Mark if ever red or white
Anywhere gave such delight...

George Wither

Amoret

If rightly tuneful bards decide,
If it be fix'd in Love's decrees,
That Beauty ought not to be tried
But by its native power to please,
Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell
What fair can Amoret excel?

Behold that bright unsullied smile,
And wisdom speaking in her mien:
Yetshe so artless all the while,
So little studious to be seen
We naught but instant gladness know,
Nor think to whom the gift we owe.

But neither music, nor the powers
Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer,
Add half the sunshine to the hours,
Or make life's prospect half so clear,
As memory brings it to the eye
From scenes where Amoret was by.

This, sure, is Beauty's happiest part;
This gives the most unbounded sway;
This shall enchant the subject heart

Mark Akenside

Beauty

A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Unknown

Beauty

Sometimes, slow moving through unlovely days,
The need to look on beauty falls on me
As on the blind the anguished wish to see,
As on the dumb the urge to rage or praise;
Beauty of marble where the eyes may gaze
Till soothed to peace by white serenity,
Or canvas where one master hand sets free
Great colours that like angels blend and blaze.

O, there be many starved in this strange wise--
For this diviner food their days deny,
Knowing beyond their vision beauty stands
With pitying eyes--with tender, outstretched hands,
Eager to give to every passer-by
The loveliness that feeds a soul's demands.

Theodosia Garrison