"Her lips were red, and one was thin, Compared with that was next her chin, Some bee had stung it newly."[58] The real, red, bright being of the lip is there in a moment But it is all outside; no expression yet, no mind. Let us go a step farther with Warner, of fair Rosamond struck by Eleanor. "With that she dashed her on the lips So dyed double red; Hard was the heart that gave the blow, Soft were those lips that bled." The tenderness of mind begins to mingle with the outside color, the imagination is seen in its awakening. Next Shelley,-- "Lamp of life, thy lips are burning Through the veil that seems to hide them, As the radiant lines of morning Through thin clouds, ere they divide them." There dawns the entire soul in that morning; yet we may stop if we choose at the image still external, at the crimson clouds. The imagination is contemplative rather than penetrative. Last, hear Hamlet,-- "Here hung those lips that I have kissed, I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar?" There is the essence of lip, and the full power of the imagination. Again, compare Milton's flowers in Lycidas with Perdita's. In Milton it happens, I think, generally, and in the case before us most certainly, that the imagination is mixed and broken with fancy, and so the strength of the imagery is part of iron and part of clay. "Bring the rathe primrose, that forsaken dies (Imagination) The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, (Nugatory) The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet,-- (Fancy) The glowing violet, (Imagination) The musk rose, and the well-attired woodbine, (Fancy, vulgar) With cowslips wan, that hang the pensive head, (Imagination) And every flower that sad embroidery wears." (Mixed) Then hear Perdita:-- "O, Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's wagon. Daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty. Violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids."