Classic Poem

MADAM,

I would but praise, not flatter: yet
What flatters others, does your praise but fit.
I would have shun'd all Verse too: but I knew
He must write measure, that would write of You.
So Geometrical has Nature fram'd
That, which can now no otherwise be nam'd,
But as a Rule for all: each several part
Is all whole Axiome, to direct an Art.
That now, men skilful, doubt, to which is due,
More to those noble Sciences, or You.
And thus I was created! for who can
Lie earth'd i'th' dull thoughts of a common man,
When you shall shine; and with your symetry
Shew like the springs new Genius; while your eye
Kindles each noble bloud with such chaste fire.
As causes Flame, and yet forbids Desire?
And when your skye of vein shall gently flow,
Branching through both your Hemispheres of snow,
When crimson Tulips, and the Rose o'th' bush,
Shall draw their tincture from your lip, and blush;
When that mild breath, which even the calmest West
Fannes from the Pink and Violet, from your brest
Shall have its derivation; then you may
Confesse your self, our Morning and our Day.
And these might make you glorious: yet I dare
(Madam) tell you, that these but fading are,
Must bed i'th' shade, and cease: and that I tell
This, shews there's something that doth more excell,
Remaining in you: else the name Decay
I know would fright a Lady into clay.
And but to hear, she must be old and dye,
Would make her weep till she had ne're an eye.
But that which makes me daring thus, I find
Is that pure shine of Deity, your Mind,
So fill'd with sweetnesse, that whosoe're shall see't,
Streight thinks of Virgin Nature, at whose feet
Stand all the Sects of old Philosophy,
Paying their admiration by their eye.
So you amaze all knowledge, that even they
Which can but name and know you, do adde day
Unto their owne Life here. To prove this, I
Shall find this honour crowne my memory,
By writing but of You, the world shall see,
I am the first drew truth to Poetry.