The Lady Who Offers Her Looking-Glass To Venus

Venus, take my votive glass:
Since I am not what I was,
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see.

Matthew Prior

Matthew Prior was an English poet and diplomat. He is known for his extensive contributions to poetry during the late 17th and early 18th centuries. Prior's works often blend sharp wit, classical allusions, and a mastery of form. Apart from poetry, he was actively involved in politics and served as a diplomat for the English government. His poetry reflects his broad knowledge and varied experiences.

Matthew Prior

The Flies

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

To A Person Who Wrote Ill, And Spake Worse, Against Me

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

Epigram - Frank Carves Very Ill

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

To The Lady Elizabeth Harley, Since Marchioness Of Carmarthen, On A Column Of Her Drawing

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

English

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The Judgement Of Venus

When Kneller's works, of various grace,
Were to fair Venus shown,
The Goddess spied in every face
Some features of her own.

Just so, (and pointing with her hand)
So shone, says she, my eyes,
When from two goddesses I gain'd
An apple for a prize.

When in the glass and river too
My face I lately view'd,
Such was I, if the glass be true,
If true the crystal flood.

In colours of this glorious kind
Apelles painted me;
My hair, thus flowing with the wind
Sprung from my native sea.

Like this disorder'd, wild, forlorn,
Big with ten thousand fears,
Thee, my Adonis, did I mourn
E'en beautiful in tears.

But viewing Myra placed apart,
I fear, says she, I fear,
Appelles, that Sir Godfrey's art
Has far surpass...

Matthew Prior

Venus' Looking-Glass.

I marked where lovely Venus and her court
With song and dance and merry laugh went by;
Weightless, their wingless feet seemed made to fly,
Bound from the ground and in mid air to sport.
Left far behind I heard the dolphins snort,
Tracking their goddess with a wistful eye,
Around whose head white doves rose, wheeling high
Or low, and cooed after their tender sort.
All this I saw in spring. Through summer heat
I saw the lovely Queen of Love no more.
But when flushed autumn through the woodlands went
I spied sweet Venus walk amid the wheat:
Whom seeing, every harvester gave o'er
His toil, and laughed and hoped and was content.

Christina Georgina Rossetti

The Lady's Looking-Glass

Celia and I the other Day
Walk'd o'er the Sand-Hills to the Sea:
The setting Sun adorn'd the Coast,
His Beams entire, his Fierceness lost:
And, on the Surface of the Deep,
The Winds lay only not asleep:
The Nymph did like the Scene appear,
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair:
Soft fell her words, as flew the Air.
With secret Joy I heard Her say,
That She would never miss one Day
A Walk so fine, a Sight so gay.

But, oh the Change! the Winds grow high:
Impending Tempests charge the Sky:
The Lightning flies: the Thunder roars:
And big Waves lash the frighten'd Shoars.
Struck with the Horror of the Sight,
She turns her Head, and wings her Flight;
And trembling vows, She'll ne'er again
Approach the Shoar, or view the Main.

Once more at le...

Matthew Prior

Venus' Advice To The Muses

Thus to the Muses spoke the Cyprian Dame,
Adorn my altars, and revere my name.
My son shall else assume his potent darts;
Twang goes the bow; my girls have at your hearts.
The Muses answer'd Venus, We deride
The Vagrant's malice and his mother's pride:
Send him to nymphs who sleep on Ida's shade,
To the loose dance and wanton masquerade:
Our thoughts are settled, and intent our look
On the instructive verse and moral book.
On female idleness his power relies,
But when he finds us studying hard he flies.

Matthew Prior

The Sonnets III - Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneard womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,
Of his self-love to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mothers glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, rememberd not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.

William Shakespeare

To Venus. III-26 (From The Odes Of Horace)

    Lately was I to gentle maidens suited,
        And not without some glory did contend,
    But now my weapons and my lute made useless
        For contests, on this wall I will suspend,
    That guards the left side of our sea-born Venus;
        Here, here, place you my gleaming waxen torch,
    My levers and my crow-bars that can threaten
        The doors that ought to open on this porch.
    Oh, Goddess, thou who blessed Cyprus rulest,
        And Memphis ever lacking Thracian snow,
    My Queen, in passing, with thy whip uplifted
        Give to my haughty Chloe just one blow.

Helen Leah Reed