A Woman's Charms

My purse is yours, Sweet Heart, for I     Can count no coins with you close by;     I scorn like sailors them, when they     Have drawn on shore their deep-sea pay;     Only my thoughts I value now,     Which, like the simple glowworms, throw     Their beams to greet thee bravely, Love,     Their glorious light in Heaven above.     Since I have felt thy waves of light,     Beating against my soul, the sight     Of gems from Afric's continent     Move me to no great wonderment.     Since I, Sweet Heart, have known thine hair,     The fur of ermine, sable, bear,     Or silver fox, for me can keep     No more to praise than common sheep.     Though ten Isaiahs' souls were mine,     They could not sing such charms as thine.     Two little hands that show with pride,     Two timid, little feet that hide;     Two eyes no dark Senoras show     Their burning like in Mexico;     Two coral gates wherein is shown     Your queen of charms, on a white throne;     Your queen of charms, the lovely smile     That on its white throne could beguile     The mastiff from his gates in hell;     Who by no whine or bark could tell     His masters what thing made him go,     And countless other charms I know.     October's hedge has far less hues     Than thou hast charms from which to choose.