T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
Loves Complement
By Thomas Carew (1595?1639?)(From The Poems and Masque of Thomas Carew. London. 1640. Edited by Joseph Woodfall Ebsworth. London. 1893) |
O MY Dearest, I shall grieve thee, | |
When I swear (yet, Sweet, believe me:) | |
By thine eyes, the tempting book | |
On which even crabbed old men look,— | |
I swear to thee, though none abhor them, | 5 |
Yet I do not love thee for them. | |
I do not love thee for that fair | |
Rich fan of thy most curious hair; | |
Though the wires thereof be drawn | |
Finer than the threads of lawn, | 10 |
And are softer than the leaves | |
On which the subtle spinner weaves. | |
I do not love thee for those flowers | |
Growing on thy cheeks—Love’s bowers; | |
Though such cunning hath them spread, | 15 |
None can part their white and red; | |
Love’s golden arrows thence are shot: | |
Yet for them I love thee not. | |
I do not love thee for those soft | |
Red coral lips I’ve kiss’d so oft; | 20 |
Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard | |
To speech, whence music still is heard: | |
Though from those lips a kiss being taken | |
Would Tyrants melt, and Death awaken. | |
I do not love thee, O my fairest! | 25 |
For that richest—for that rarest | |
Silver pillar which stands under | |
Thy round head, that globe of wonder: | |
Though that neck be whiter far | |
Than towers of polish’d ivory are. | 30 |
I do not love thee for those mountains | |
Hill’d with snow; whence milky fountains | |
(Sugar’d sweets, as sirup’d berries,) | |
Must one day run, through pipes of cherries: | |
O how much those breasts do move me! | 35 |
Yet for them I do not love thee. | |
I do not love thee for that belly, | |
Sleek as satin, soft as jelly; | |
Though within that crystal Mound | |
Heaps of treasure may be found, | 40 |
So rich, that for the least of them | |
A king might leave his diadem. | |
I do not love thee for those thighs, | |
Whose alabaster rocks do rise | |
So high and even, that they stand | 45 |
Like sea-marks to some happy land: | |
Happy they, whose eyes have seen them, | |
But happier he that sails between them. | |
I love thee not for thy moist palm, | |
Though the dew thereof be balm; | 50 |
Nor for thy pretty leg and foot, | |
Although it be the precious root | |
On which this goodly cedar grows: | |
Sweet, I love thee not for those. | |
Nor for thy wit, though pure and quick, | 55 |
Whose substance no arithmetic | |
Can number down; nor for the charms | |
Thou makest with thy embracing arms: | |
Though in them one night to lie, | |
Dearest, I would gladly die. | 60 |
I love not for those eyes, nor hair, | |
Nor cheeks, nor lips, nor teeth so rare, | |
Nor for thy speech, thy neck, nor breast, | |
Nor for thy belly, nor the rest; | |
Nor for thy hand nor foot so small: | 65 |
But, would’st thou know, dear sweet?—for All! | |