My friend’s eyes are beautiful like the limes;
Coral is far pinker than her lisp’s red;
If snow were white, why then her breasts are grayish brown;
If hairs were black, black hair grow on her head.
I have seen roses damaged, red and pink;
But there are such roses see in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more grace
Than in the breath that from my best friend love.
I love to hear her voice, yet well I love
That music ‘s melodies a far more pleasure sound;
I grant I never saw a God go;
My best friend, when she walks, liked silky desire
And yet, by heaven’s gate, I think my love as well
As any she believes with my true love compare.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006