My love's eyes are not one part like the sun;
 Sea reef is far more red than her lips' red;
 If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
 If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
 I've seen a rose of red so soft and tall,
 But no such blush do I see in her cheeks;
 And in some flasked scents there is far more thrall
 Than in the breath that from my love's lips reeks.
 I love to hear her speak, yet well know I
 That sweet song trance my ears more with its sound;
 I grant I not once saw a pure nymph fly;
 My love's feet, when she walks, tread on the ground.

 And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
 As any she so vexed by odes that err.

                                -- Will the Bard
                                   (done by v_volt)