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Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd,
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free,
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all the adulteries of art:
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
--
Epicene, or The Silent Woman (1609), Act I, scene i.

 

Ben Jonson

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Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)
That sav'd a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

 

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As shines the moon in clouded skies,
She in her poor attire was seen;
One praised her ankles, one her eyes,
One her dark hair and lovesome mien.
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In all that land had never been.
Cophetua sware a royal oath:
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Alfred (Lord) Tennyson

 

Let's do it in the mornin'
Sweet breeze in the summer time.
Feeling your sweet face
All laid up next to mine.
Sweet love in the midnight;
Good sleep, come mornin' light.
No worries 'bout nothin';
Just gettin' good, just gettin' good
Just gettin' good love.

 

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But life is sweet, though all that makes it sweet
Lessen like sound of friends’ departing feet;
And Death is beautiful as feet of friend
Coming with welcome at our journey’s end.
For me Fate gave, whate’er she else denied,
A nature sloping to the southern side;
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James Russell Lowell

 

I love the way you look tonight
With your hair hangin' down on your shoulders.
N' I love the way you dance your slow sweet tango,
The way you wanna do everything but talk.
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Your breath on my body makes me warm inside.

 

Bryan Adams