Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE RETURNETH THE GLOVE, ACCUSING HER BEAUTY

Not that adorable hand alone I blame
Whose gain deprives me both of hand and glove,
But its bright twin and the soft arms of love
So prompt to put my timid heart to shame.
Love spreads a thousand traps and toils of flame,
Not one in vain, such charms such power move,
And so completely her pure nature prove,
No style nor mind can touch it, no word name.
That star-stained forehead, that most tranquil-eyed,
That mild angelic mouth where rose-mist glows
Against pearl glimmer, whence rich musics glide —
These startle — and the fine head like a rose
Blossoms its golden tresses which defied
The sun in all his midday pomp and pose.