Classic Poem

Is it eyes, or mouth, or hair,
Or the pearls about a throat,
No whit than themselves less fair,
That before my vision float,
And hold me pris'ner of despair?

Is it subtly moulded ear,
Tender as a rose-lit shell,
Or the rippling laugh I hear,
Whose resistless, untold, spell
Poiseth me 'twixt hope and fear?

Ah! I name nor lips, nor hair,
Ears, empearlèd throat, nor eyes:
Not in one beauty's curious snare
The secret of my bondage lies;
'Tis in the whole dear Self, I swear.