All orators are dumb when Beauty pleadeth. Shakspeare. To give pain is the tyranny, to make happy the true empire, of beauty. Loveliness needs not the foreign aid of ornament, Shakspeare. Oh, how I grudge the grave this heavenly form! Southey. Socrates called beauty a short-lived tyranny; Plato termed it a privilege of Nature; Theophrastus, a delightful prejudice; Carneades, a solitary kingdom; Homer, a glorious gift of Nature; while Ovid styled it the gift of the gods. Trust not too much to an enchanting face. Virgil. Is she not more than painting can express, Beauty without virtue is a flower without perfume. Mark the majestic fabric! She's a temple, Oh, she is all perfections, Dryden. All that the blooming earth can send forth fair, Lee. To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, Burns. All beaming with light as those young features are, Beauty is a beam from heaven, Moore. Campbell. For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile. Campbell. Oh, she has beauty might ensnare A conqueror's soul, and make him leave his crown I dearly love a changing cheek, That glows or pales as feeling chooses, Like jewels in a restless ocean. Otway. Mrs. Osgood. In joyous youth, what soul hath never known Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit's play Campbell. Lips in whose rosy labyrinth when she smiled the soul. was lost, And then her look! Oh, where's the heart so wise Quick, restless, strange, but exquisite withal, Like those of angels just before their fall. Moore. Then her lip, so rich in blisses, Campbell. I've known, if mortal ever knew, the spells of Beauty's thrall, And if my song has told them not, my soul has felt them all; But passion robs my peace no more, and Beauty's win ning sway Is now to me a star that's fallen, a dream that's passed away. Campbell. She ceased, and turned upon her pillow; pale Playful blushes, that seem naught Byron. Moore. 'Tis not the fairest form that holds The sweetest breath of fragrance in. Her pure and eloquent blood Dawes. Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought Naught under heaven so strongly doth allure That can with melting pleasure mollify Donne. Their hardened hearts, enured to blood and cruelty. Spenser. A great care to keep it, a short space to enjoy it, A sudden time to lose it. What greater torment ever could have been Than to enforce the fair to live retired? For what is beauty if it be not seen? Or what is't to be seen if not admired? So fair that had you Beauty's picture took, Lilly. Daniel. Aleyn. |