Song From The Silent Woman

Still to be neat, still to be dressed,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed:
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free;
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all th' adulteries of art:
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

Ben Jonson

Ben Jonson was an English playwright and poet, best known for his satirical plays and lyric poetry. Born on June 11, 1572, Jonson's works, including 'Volpone' and 'The Alchemist,' were critical of social norms and human follies. A contemporary and rival of Shakespeare, he was a significant figure in English Renaissance literature. Jonson also contributed to the development of English poetry through his masques and epigrams. He died on August 6, 1637.

Ben Jonson

Epistle: To Katherine, Lady Aubigny

Ben Jonson, Simple Poetry

Conditions Of Living

Ben Jonson, Simple Poetry

For A Girl In A Book

Ben Jonson, Simple Poetry

Hymn To Diana

Ben Jonson, Simple Poetry

English

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Clerimont's Song

Still to be neat, still to be dressed,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed;
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though arts hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free;
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all th adulteries of art.
They strike mine eyes but not my heart.

Ben Jonson

Song.

Never, oh never more! shall I behold
    Thy form so fair,
Or loosen from its braids the rippling gold
    Of thy long hair.

Never, oh never more! shall I be blest
    By thy voice low,
Or kiss, while thou art sleeping on my breast,
    Thy marble brow.

Never, oh never more! shall I inhale
    Thy fragrant sighs,
Or gaze, with fainting soul, upon the veil
    Of thy bright eyes.

Frances Anne Kemble

Ballade Of Woman

A woman! lightly the mysterious word
Falls from our lips, lightly as though we knew
Its meaning, as we say - a flower, a bird,
Or say the moon, the stream, the light, the dew,
Simple familiar things, mysterious too;
Or as a star is set down on a chart,
Named with a name, out yonder in the blue:
A woman - and yet how much more thou art!

So lightly spoken, and so lightly heard,
And yet, strange word, who shall thy sense construe?
What sage hath yet fit designation dared?
Yet I have sought the dictionaries through,
And of thy meaning found me not a clue;
Blessing and breaking still the firmest heart,
So fairy false, yet so divinely true:
A woman - and yet how much more thou art!

Mother of God, and Circe, bosom-bared,
That nursed our manhood, and ...

Richard Le Gallienne

Sonnet LXXIX.

While unsuspecting trust in all that wears
    Virtue's bright semblance, stimulates my heart
    To find its dearest pleasures in the part
    Taken in other's joys; yielding to theirs
Its own desires, each latent wish that bears
    The selfish stamp, O! let me shun the art
    Taught by smooth Flattery in her courtly mart,
    Where Simulation's studied smile ensnares!
Scorn that exterior varnish for the Mind,
    Which, while it polishes the manners, veils
    In showy clouds the soul. - E'en thus we find
Glass, o'er whose surface clear the pencil steals,
    Grown less transparent, tho' with colours gay,
    Sheds but the darken'd and ambiguous ray.

Anna Seward

At The Play

Just above the boxes and where the high lights fall
Looketh down a carven face from out the gilded wall.

Van Dyke beard and broidered ruff silently confess
That he lived - and loved perchance - in days of Good Queen Bess.
(Laces fine and linen sheer, curled and perfumed hair
Well became those gentlemen of gay, insouciant air.)

See! He gazeth evermore at the stage below;
Noteth well the players as they quickly come and go;
Queens and kings and maidens fair, motley fools and friars,
Lords and ladies, stately dames, mounted knights and squires.

Well he knoweth all of them, all the grave and gay,
These are they he dreamt of in the far and far away;
Saints and sinners, see they come down the bygone years,
And the world still shares with them its laughter and its...

Virna Sheard

On Seeing Through A Distant Window A Belle Completing Her Toilet For A Ball.

'Tis well - 'tis well - that clustering shade
Is on thy forehead sweetly laid;
And that light curl that slumbers by
Makes deeper yet thy depth of eye;
And that white rose that decks thy hair
Just wins the eye to linger there,
Yet makes it not to note the less
The beauty of that raven tress.

Thy coral necklace? - ear-rings too?
Nay - nay - not them - no darker hue
Than thy white bosom be to-night
On that fair neck the bar of light,
Or hide the veins that faintly glow
And wander in its living snow.

What! - yet another? can it be
That neck needs ornament to thee? -
Yet not thy jewels! - they are bright,
But that dark eye has softer light,
And tho' each gem had been a star,
Thy simple self were lovelier far -
Yet stay! - that string...

Nathaniel Parker Willis