A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction—
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher—
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbands to flow confusedly—
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat—
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility—
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.
Robert Herrick 1591-1674
I wonder whether what Herrick liked was really careless or, on the contrary, the art that conceals art. Most women I know spend hours trying to look as if they had thrown themselves together in a minute.