Classic Poem

S PONSUS .

How fair art thou, how wondrous fair!
Thy dove-like eyes in shades of hair,
Whose dangling curls appear like flocks
Of climbing goats from Gilead's rocks.
Thy teeth like sheep in their return
From Chison, wash'd and smoothly shorn.
None mark'd for barren, none of all,
But equal twins at once let fall.
Thy lips like threads of scarlet show,
Whence graceful accents sweetly flow,
Thy cheeks like Punic apples are,
Which blush beneath thy flowing hair.
Thy neck like David's armoury,
With polish'd marble rais'd on high,
Whose walls a thousand shields adorn,
By worthies oft in battle borne.
Thy breasts are twins, twins of the roe,
There grazing where the lilies grow.
I to the mountains will retire,
Where bleeding trees perfumes expire,
Until the morning fleck the sky,
And night's repulsed shadows fly.
How beautiful thy looks appear,
In ev'ry part from blemish clear!
My spouse, at length, let us be gone,
Leave we the fragrant Lebanon.
Look down from Amana, look down
From Shenir's top and Hermon's crown,
From hills where dreadful lions rave,
And from the mountain-leopard's cave.
Thou, who My spouse and sister art,
How hast thou ravished My heart!
Struck with one glance of thy bright eyes,
One hair of thine in fetters ties!
Thy beauty, sister, is divine;
Thy love, My spouse, more strong than wine.
Thy odours, far more redolent
Than spices from Panchaia sent.
Thy lips drop honey, from below
Thy palate milk and honey flow.
Thy robes a sweeter odour cast
Than Lebanon with cedars grac'd.
My love, by mutual vows assur'd,
A garden is, with strength immur'd;
A crystal fountain, a clear spring,
Shut up and sealed with my ring;
An orchard stor'd with pleasant fruits,
Pomegranate trees there spread their roots,
Where sweetly-smelling camphire blows,
And never-dying spikenard grows;
Sweet spikenard, crocus newly-blown,
Sweet calamus and cinnamon;
Those trees which sacred incense shed,
The tears of myrrh, and aloes bled
From bitter wounds; with all the rare
Productions which perfume the air.

S PONSA .

T HOSE living springs from Thee proceed,
Whose drills our plants with moisture feed;
Like crystal streams which issue from
The fountain-fruitful Lebanon.
You cooler winds blow from the north,
You dropping southern gales break forth,
On this our garden gently blow,
And through the land rich odours throw.
Come Love, come, with a lover's haste,
Our riper fruits and spices taste.