To Dianeme

Robert Herrick (1591–1674)

SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes,

Which starlike sparkle in their skies;

Nor be you proud that you can see

All hearts your captives, yours yet free.

Be you not proud of that rich hair,

Which wantons with the lovesick air;

Whenas that ruby which you wear,

Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,

Will last to be a precious stone

When all your world of beauty ’s gone.