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pensnestLet not my love be called idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol rise,
To laud him blindly smacks of sophistry
And I Will trust the honour of mine eyes.
A faultless form was ne'er my predilection,
Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,
Rather I sing the praise of imperfection
And on his flaws is my invention spent.
The wicked sun his pallid skin doth speckle
The hairs below match not his raven head;
Yet will I quest to kiss each pretty freckle,
Declining dye to rest my lips in red.
Then will I swear beauty perforce is black,
And all they dull that his complexion lack.
Nor my beloved as an idol rise,
To laud him blindly smacks of sophistry
And I Will trust the honour of mine eyes.
A faultless form was ne'er my predilection,
Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,
Rather I sing the praise of imperfection
And on his flaws is my invention spent.
The wicked sun his pallid skin doth speckle
The hairs below match not his raven head;
Yet will I quest to kiss each pretty freckle,
Declining dye to rest my lips in red.
Then will I swear beauty perforce is black,
And all they dull that his complexion lack.
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Date: 2010-10-01 07:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 08:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 09:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 07:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-12 06:15 pm (UTC)