The Triumph

SEE the Chariot at hand here of Love,Wherein my Lady rideth!Each that draws is a swan or a dove,And well the car Love guideth.As she goes, all hearts do dutyUnto her beauty;And enamour'd do wish, so they mightBut enjoy such a sight,That they still were to run by her side,Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

Do but look on her eyes, they do lightAll that Love's world compriseth!Do but look on her hair, it is brightAs Love's star when it riseth!

Do but mark, her forehead's smootherThan words that soothe her;And from her arch'd brows such a graceSheds itself through the face,As alone there triumphs to the lifeAll the gain, all the good, of the elements' strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily growBefore rude hands have touch'd it?Have you mark'd but the fall of the snowBefore the soil hath smutch'd it?Have you felt the wool of beaver,Or swan's down ever?Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier,Or the nard in the fire?Or have tasted the bag of the bee?O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she!