We Are The Campions

"There Is A Garden In Her Face"

There is a Garden in her face,
Where Roses and white Lillies grow;
   A heav'nly paradice is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits doe flow.
   There Cherries grow which one may buy
   Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.

   Those Cherries fayrely doe enclose
Of Orient Pearle a double row,
   Which when her lovely daughter showes,
They look like Rose-buds fill'd with snow.
   Yet them nor Peere, nor Prince can buy,
   Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.

   Her Eyes like Angels watch them still;
Her Browes like bended bowes doe stand,
   Threatning with piercing frownes to kill,
All that attempt with eye or hand
   Those sacred Chrries to come nigh,
   Till Cheery ripe themselves doe cry.

   --- Thomas Campion, 1616

Not too much I really want to say about this poem, save to say that a I love that simile, "like Rose-buds fill'd with snow," an image that seems somewhat consoling as frigin January settles in. Here's another one from Campion, a poet so seldom studied anymore:

"Now Winter Nights Enlarge"

Now winter nights enlarge
   The number of their houres,
And clouds their stormes discharge
   Upon the ayrie towres,
Let now the chimneys blaze
   And cups o'erflow with wine:
Let well-tun'd words amaze
   With harmonie divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
   Shall waite on hunny Love,
While youthfull Revels, Masks, and Courtly sights,
   Sleepes leaden spels remove.
This time doth well dispence
   With lovers long discourse;
Much speech hath some defence,
   Though beauty no remorse.
All doe not all things well;
   Some measures comely tread;
Some knotted Ridles tell;
   Some Poems smoothly read.
The Summer hath his joyes,
   And Winter his delights;
Though Love and all his pleasures are but toyes,
   They shorten tedious nights.

      Campion, also 1618

"Beauty no remorse." No kidding. ;-) Oh, it's so hard to find delights in these wintry times.