Classic Poem

I said, " My love is sweet, and I will seek
Whereto to liken her; her eyes are grey
As the grey water mingled in a creek
With green, and greener than the seas are they,
And browner than the golden moor-fed stream;
Her hands are wonderful, her lips are red,
And as the light of morning is the beam
That like a coronet crowns my lady's head;
She hath a supple fawn's advancing grace,
She hath the flushing of a mountain rose, —
Like some sweet lily in a shady place
My lady, quiet yet most queenly, grows,
Waiting for one to pluck the tender flower
Whose beauty floods with white the garden bower. "