See the chariot at hand here of love
Wherein my lady rideth
Each that draws is a swan or a dove
And well the car Love guideth;
As she goes all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty;
And enamoured do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight
That they still were to run by her side
Through swords, through seas whither she would ride
Do but look on her eyes
They do light all that Love's world compriseth
Do but look on her hair
It is bright as Love's star when it riseth
Do but mark, her forehеad's smoother
Than words that soothe her;
And from hеr arched brows such a grace
Sheds itself through the face
As alone there triumphs to the life
All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife
Have you seen but a bright lily grow
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall of the snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver
Or swan's down ever?
Or have smelt of the bud of the brier
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she!