Venus Victrix by William Bledsoe Philpot

So there, my perilous warriouresse, you pose
At once Love’s champion and his deadest prize;
Oh! in what proud array your beauty goes!
See what rare levin flashes from your eyes!
Your words far worse than all artilleries,
As though you ranked me with your deadliest foes;
Your beauty vaunting what your grace denies,
Why draw me, dare me, to a fatal close?
Or else why wear that ventayle on your brow.
Your wimpled locks a plumèd burganet,
A tower impregnable your neck of snow.
On either cheek a blood-red banneret.
Your breasts — brave outworks which you dare me scale —
Well! Love be dayesman — if I fail, I fail.

From: Philpot, William and Philpot, Hamlet (ed.), A Scrip of Salvage from the Poems of William Philpot, M.A., Oxon., 1891, Macmillan and Co.: London, p. 6.
(https://archive.org/stream/ascripsalvagefr00philgoog#page/n22/mode/2up)

Date: 1891 (published)

By: William Bledsoe Philpot (1823-1889)

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