I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
       Not so much honoring thee
     As giving it a hope that there
       It could not withered be;
     But thou thereon did’st only breathe
       And sent’st it back to me;
     Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
       Not of itself but thee!

are a free imitation of passages in the Love Letters (Nos. 30 and 31) of the Greek Philostratus:  “Send me back some of the roses on which you slept.  Their natural fragrance will have been increased by that which you imparted to them.”  This is a great improvement on the Persian poets who go into raptures over the fragrant locks of fair women, not for their inherent sweetness, however, but for the artificial perfumes used by them, including the disgusting musk!  “Is a caravan laden with musk returning from Khoten?” sings one of these bards in describing the approach of his mistress.

POETIC DESIRE FOR CONTACT

Besides such direct comparisons of feminine charms to flowers, to sun and moon and other beautiful objects of nature, amorous hyperbole has several other ways of expressing itself.  The lover longs to be some article of dress that he might touch the beloved, or a bird that he might fly to her, or he fancies that all nature is love-sick in sympathy with him.  Romeo’s

     See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! 
     O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
     That I might touch that cheek!

is varied in Heine’s poem, where the lover wishes he were a stool for her feet to rest on, a cushion for her to stick pins in, or a curl-paper that he might whisper his secrets into her ears; and in Tennyson’s dainty lines: 

     It is the miller’s daughter,
     And she is grown so dear, so dear,
     That I would be the jewel
     That trembles at her ear;
     For hid in ringlets day and night
     I’d touch her neck so warm and white.

     And I would be the girdle
     About her dainty, dainty waist,
     And her heart would beat against me
     In sorrow and in rest;
     And I should know if it beat right,
     I’d clasp it round so close and tight.

     And I would be the necklace,
     And all day long to fall and rise
     Upon her balmy bosom
     With her laughter or her sighs,
     And I would be so light, so light,
     I scarce should be unclasped at night.

Herein, too, our modern poets were anticipated by the ancients.  Anacreon wishes he were a mirror that he might reflect the image of his beloved; or the gown she wears every day; or the water that laves her limbs; or the balm that anoints her body; or the pearl that adorns her neck; or the cloth that covers her breast; or the shoes that are trodden by her feet.