Classic Poem

What flower is my lady like?
You think the rose is my suppose;
But it doth not my fancy strike.
The gaudy rose in summer blows,
In winter it is cold and dead:
My lovely flower blooms most the hour
When days are dark, and summer fled.

My lady's like no mortal flower
That hath its birth upon this earth,
Though formed in nature's chosen hour:
Albeit indeed it had the seed
In garden bright of Paradise,
And endless bloom from thence hath come
To bless each other sense and eyes.

I ne'er shall think my lady old:
I feel no fears of coming years;
I 'll love the more, a thousand fold.
Time cannot vade what Virtue made:
Virtue puts back the hand of Time;
And love like mine is so divine,
To think of failing is a crime.

Unworthy her I am, I know;
And what is best in me and blessed
Is only that I love her so.
There cannot be no worth in me,
Seeing I love so passing well:
If me she loved, it would be proved
How much I did all men excel.

That cannot come within my scope;
Yet service true I still will do,
And even hope in spite of hope.
She is above my humble love
That but looks up in still delight:
The stars are high within the sky;
I reach them not for they are bright.

Fair star, look down! and as a friend
On me but think for one sweet wink,
And I am blessed sans sum or end.
Stars never frown, but aye look down
On earth with smiling cheerful eyes.
Ah me! but then they see all men:
Thy smiles are my monopolies.