To Dianeme

Robert Herrick

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 thatruby which you wear,

Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,

Will last to be a precious stone

When all your world’s of beauty gone.