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Richard Lovelace - Another
Work rating: Low

                     I.
As I beheld a winter`s evening air,
Curl`d in her court-false-locks of living hair,
Butter`d with jessamine the sun left there.

                     II.
Galliard and clinquant she appear`d to give,
A serenade or ball to us that grieve,
And teach us A LA MODE more gently live.

                    III.
But as a Moor, who to her cheeks prefers
White spots, t` allure her black idolaters,
Me thought she look`d all ore-bepatch`d with stars.

                     IV.
Like the dark front of some Ethiopian queen,
Vailed all ore with gems of red, blew, green,
Whose ugly night seem`d masked with days skreen.

                     V.
Whilst the fond people offer`d sacrifice
To saphyrs, `stead of veins and arteries,
And bow`d unto the diamonds, not her eyes.

                     VI.
Behold LUCASTA`S face, how`t glows like noon!
A sun intire is her complexion,
And form`d of one whole constellation.

                    VII.
So gently shining, so serene, so cleer,
Her look doth universal Nature cheer;
Only a cloud or two hangs here and there.
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