Frankly, your eyes should not be like the sun
And coral is a rotten sort of red
Snow White's anemic, nature made us dun,
And hair is rather wiry on the head.
Roses, no matter whether red or white,
Or even damask, do not grow on cheeks,
Or if they do with pain, and not delight,
While perfumes cover where the morning reeks;
I listen to you often, so I know
Your voice is yours, and not some music's sound;
And since the view is good, I watch you go
And know your feet stay where they should: the ground.
I've thought this over carefully (that's rare)
And you should know you're still beyond compare.
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