The Measure of Beauty
Give Beauty all her right,
She's not to one form tied;
Each shape yields fair delight,
Where her perfections bide:
Helen, I grant, might pleasing be,
And Ros'mond was as sweet as she.
Some the quick eye commends,
Some swelling lips and red;
Pale looks have many friends,
Through sacred sweetness bred:
Meadows have flowers that pleasure move,
Though roses are the flowers of love.
Free beauty is not bound
To one unmoved clime;
She visits every ground
And favours every time.
Let the old loves with mine compare,
My sovereign is as sweet as fair.
Thomas Campion's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (The Measure of Beauty by Thomas Campion )
- To overcome perversion, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
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- Overcompensation, Nalini Jyotsana Chaturvedi
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