Classic Poem

So smell those odours that do rise
From out the wealthy spiceries;
So smells the flower of blooming clove,
Or roses smothered in the stove;
So smells the air of spicèd wine,
Or essences of jessamine;
So smells the breath about the hives,
When well the work of honey thrives,
And all the busy factors come
Laden with wax and honey home;
So smell those neat and woven bowers,
All over-arched with orange-flowers,
And almond blossoms, that do mix
To make rich these aromatics;
So smell those bracelets and those bands
Of amber chafed between the hands,
When thus enkindled they transpire
A noble perfume from the fire.
The wine of cherries, and to these
The cooling breath of raspises;
The smell of morning's milk and cream,
Butter of cowslips mixed with them,
Of roasted warden or baked pear,
These are not to be reckoned here;
Whenas the meanest part of her
Smells like the maiden-pomander.
Thus sweet she smells, or what can be
More liked by her, or loved by me.