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Thomas Campion (Томас Кэмпион)


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:
  1. Follow Your Saint
  2. Fain Would I Wed
  3. Integer Vitae
  4. My Sweetest Lesbia
  5. View Me, Lord, A Work Of Thine


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