Английская поэзия

ГлавнаяБиографииСтихи по темамСлучайное стихотворениеПереводчикиСсылки
Рейтинг поэтовРейтинг стихотворений

Horace Smith (Горацио Смит)

An Olde Lyric


Oh, saw ye my own true love, I praye,
My own true love so sweete?
For the flowers have lightly toss'd awaye
The prynte of her faery feete.
Now, how can we telle if she passed us bye?
Is she darke or fayre to see?
Like sloes are her eyes, or blue as the skies?
Is't braided her haire or free?


Oh, never by outward looke or signe,
My true love shall ye knowe;
There be many as fayre, and many as fyne,
And many as brighte to showe.
But if ye coude looke with angel's eyes,
Which into the soule can see,
She then would be seene as the matchless Queene
Of Love and of Puritie. 

Horace Smith's other poems:
  1. The Curate to His Slippers
  2. On Circuit
  3. Lullaby
  4. My Boating Song
  5. Effusion by a Cigar Smoker

Распечатать стихотворение. Poem to print Распечатать стихотворение (Poem to print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 564

Последние стихотворения

Поддержать сайт

To English version


Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru