Classic Poem

Faire is my Loue, and cruell as she's faire;
Her brow shades frownes, although her eyes are sunny,
Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despaire;
And her disdaines are Gall, her fauours Hunny.
A modest Maide, deckt with a blush of honor,
Whose feete doe tread greene paths of youth and loue,
The wonder of all eyes that looke vpon her:
Sacred on earth, design'd a Saint aboue.
Chastitie and Beautie, which were deadly foes,
Liue reconciled friends within her brow:
And had she pitty to conioyne with those,
Then who had heard the plaints I vtter now?
For had she not beene faire and thus vnkinde,
My Muse had slept, and none had knowne my minde.