Thinking On Perfection

When will my eyes find haven in ye Lady? Thy exquisiteness is the discourse of my pleasure. I wonder about all of your manners inestimable, And leave aside all the common earth's treasures. With breasts so full, my heart doth sigh A face made radiant as the pole star. Hair black as chimney sweeper's soot, Her skin milky white like ivory bar. Thy body sculpted by some angelic hand, Hips curving as a nymph's seashell. Thighs slender as caroling lovebirds, Feet lingering idle by my wishing well. Shall we meet once in lover's dance? A choice less night, left not to chance.