Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew, Whose short refresh upon tender green, Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth show And straight is gone, as it had never been.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Beauty is the lover's gift.
Sweet is the memory of distant friends! Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart.
Beauty is the oracle that speaks to us all.
I love beauty. But I like the beauty accidentally, not dished up, served up on a platter.
Beauty is ever to the lonely mind a shadow fleeting; she is never plain. She is a visitor who leaves behind the gift of grief, the souvenir of pain.
Love planted a rose, and the world turned sweet.
Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.
Beauty itself is but the sensible image of the Infinite.
To love beauty is to see light.
My beauty secret is absolutely no sun.