Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/166

 100. Rosaline

Like to the clear in highest sphere Where all imperial glory shines, Of selfsame colour is her hair Whether unfolded or in twines: Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, Resembling heaven by every wink; The gods do fear whenas they glow, And I do tremble when I think Heigh ho, would she were mine

Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud That beautifies Aurora's face, Or like the silver crimson shroud That Phœbus' smiling looks doth grace. Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Her lips are like two budded roses Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh, Within whose bounds she balm encloses Apt to entice a deity: Heigh ho, would she were mine!

Her neck like to a stately tower Where Love himself imprison'd lies, To watch for glances every hour From her divine and sacred eyes: Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Her paps are centres of delight, Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame, Where Nature moulds the dew of light To feed perfection with the same: Heigh ho, would she were mine!