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Ben Jonson - A Celebration of Charis: IV. Her Triumph
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See the chariot at hand here of Love,
        Wherein my lady rideth!
    Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
        And well the car Love guideth.
    As she goes, all hearts do duty
           Unto her beauty;
    And enamour`d, do wish, so they might
           But enjoy such a sight,
    That they still were to run by her side,
   Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

   Do but look on her eyes, they do light
       All that Love`s world compriseth!
   Do but look on her hair, it is bright
       As Love`s star when it riseth!
   Do but mark, her forehead`s smoother
          Than words that soothe her;
   And from her arched brows, such a grace
          Sheds itself through the face
   As alone there triumphs to the life
   All the gain, all the good, of the elements` strife.

   Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
       Before rude hands have touch`d it?
   Ha` you mark`d but the fall o` the snow
       Before the soil hath smutch`d it?
   Ha` you felt the wool o` the beaver?
          Or swan`s down ever?
   Or have smelt o` the bud o` the briar?
          Or the nard in the fire?
   Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
   Oh so white! Oh so soft! Oh so sweet is she!
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