beheld a winter's evening air,
Curl'd in her
court-false-locks of living hair,
jessamine the sun left there.
clinquant she appear'd to give,
A serenade or ball to
us that grieve,
And teach us A LA MODE more gently
But as a Moor, who to her cheeks
White spots, t' allure her black idolaters,
Me thought she look'd all ore-bepatch'd with stars.
Like the dark front of some Ethiopian queen,
Vailed all ore with gems of red, blew, green,
ugly night seem'd masked with days skreen.
Whilst the fond people offer'd sacrifice
'stead of veins and arteries,
And bow'd unto the
diamonds, not her eyes.
face, how't glows like noon!
A sun intire is her
And form'd of one whole constellation.
So gently shining, so serene, so cleer,
Her look doth universal Nature cheer;
Only a cloud or
two hangs here and there.