The Poetry Corner

The School Or Pearl Of Putney, The Mistress Of All Singular Manners, Mistress Portman.

By Robert Herrick

Whether I was myself, or else did see Out of myself that glorious hierarchy; Or whether those, in orders rare, or these Made up one state of sixty Venuses; Or whether fairies, syrens, nymphs they were, Or muses on their mountain sitting there; Or some enchanted place, I do not know, Or Sharon, where eternal roses grow. This I am sure: I ravished stood, as one Confus'd in utter admiration. Methought I saw them stir, and gently move, And look as all were capable of love; And in their motion smelt much like to flowers Inspir'd by th' sunbeams after dews and showers. There did I see the reverend rectress stand, Who with her eye's gleam, or a glance of hand, Those spirits raised; and with like precepts then, As with a magic, laid them all again. A happy realm! When no compulsive law, Or fear of it, but love keeps all in awe. Live you, great mistress of your arts, and be A nursing mother so to majesty, As those your ladies may in time be seen, For grace and carriage, everyone a queen. One birth their parents gave them; but their new, And better being, they receive from you. Man's former birth is graceless; but the state Of life comes in, when he's regenerate.