With faces like dead lovers who died true.

With faces like dead lovers who died true.

There is a garden in her face,
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is read more

There is a garden in her face,
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow.
There cherries grow that none may buy,
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.

Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet read more

Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.--
Her lips suck forth my soul; see, where it flies!--

In her face excuse
Came prologue, and apology too prompt.

In her face excuse
Came prologue, and apology too prompt.

Her face betokened all things dear and good,
The light of somewhat yet to come was there
read more

Her face betokened all things dear and good,
The light of somewhat yet to come was there
Asleep, and waiting for the opening day,
When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.

The light upon her face
Shines from the windows of another world.
Saints only have such faces.

The light upon her face
Shines from the windows of another world.
Saints only have such faces.

Cheek . . .
Flushing white and mellow'd red;
Gradual tints, as when there glows
read more

Cheek . . .
Flushing white and mellow'd red;
Gradual tints, as when there glows
In snowy milk the bashful rose.

A face that had a story to tell. How different faces are in this
particular! Some of them speak read more

A face that had a story to tell. How different faces are in this
particular! Some of them speak not. They are books in which not
a line is written, save perhaps a date.

Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardoned all, except her face.

Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardoned all, except her face.