Classic Poem

Queen Virtue's court, which some call Stella 's face,
Prepared by Nature's chiefest furniture,
Hath his front built of alabaster pure;
Gold is the covering of that stately place;
The door, by which sometimes comes forth her grace,
Red porphyr is, which lock of pearl makes sure,
Whose porches rich (which name of cheeks endure)
Marble mixed red and white do interlace;
The windows now through which this heav'nly guest
Looks o'er the world, and can find nothing such
Which dare claim from those lights the name of best,
Of touch they are, that without touch doth touch,
Which Cupid 's self from beauty's mine did draw:
Of touch they are, and poor I am their straw.