Clora come view my
Soul, and tell
Whether I have contriv'd it well.
Now all its several lodgings lye
Compos'd into one
Gallery;
And the great Arras -hangings, made
Of various
Faces, by are laid;
That, for all
furniture, you'l find
Only
your Picture in my Mind.
Here Thou
art painted in the Dress
Of an
Inhumane Murtheress;
Examining upon our
Hearts
Thy fertile Shop of cruel Arts:
Engines more keen than ever yet
Adorned Tyrants
Cabinet;
Of which the most
tormenting are
Black Eyes,
red Lips, and curled Hair.
But, on the
other side, th' art drawn
Like to
Aurora in the
Dawn;
When in the
East she slumb'ring lyes,
And stretches out her milky
Thighs;
While all the
morning Quire does sing,
And Mamma falls, and
Roses spring;
And, at thy Feet, the wooing Doves
Sit perfecting their
harmless Loves.
Like an
Enchantress here thou show'st,
Vexing thy restless
Lover's Ghost;
And, by a Light
obscure, dost rave
Over his Entrails, in the
Cave;
Divining thence, with
horrid Care,
How long thou shalt continue fair;
And (when inform'd) them throw'st away,
To be the
greedy Vulture's prey.
But, against that, thou sit'st a float
Like
Venus in her pearly Boat.
The
Halcyons , calming all that's nigh,
Betwixt the
Air and
Water fly.
Or, if some rowling
Wave appears,
A Mass of Ambergris it bears.
Nor blows more
Wind than what may well
Convoy the
Perfume to the
Smell.
These Pictures and a thousand more,
Of Thee, my
Gallery dost store;
In all the Forms thou can'st invent
Either to please me, or
torment:
For thou alone to people me,
Art grown a num'rous
Colony;
And a Collection
choicer far
Then or
White-hall's , or
Mantua's were.
But, of these
Pictures and the rest,
That at the Entrance likes me best:
Where the same
Posture, and the Look
Remains, with which I first was took.
A tender Shepherdess, whose
Hair
Hangs loosely playing in the Air,
Transplanting Flow'rs from the green Hill,
To crown her
Head, and Bosome fill.
--
Andrew Marvell