Classic Poem

Where are those Haires so lovely Browne in show?
Where is that snowy Mount of Ivorie white?
With damaske Rose where do the Lillies grow?
Whose Colours and whose sweetnes All delight?
 Where are those cheerfull Lights, Lamps of cleere Love,
 Wherein, a beautious Heaven doth alwaies move?

Where are those Margarite Pearles withouten prise,
And Rubies rich (my matchles Treasures store)
With other Graces, wonders to the Wise,
Worthy that every Lawrell them adore?
 I know not I, unles in her they be,
 In Her who's Faire, Alas too Faire for me.

Why have not then my Stars so courteous bin,
In this to me, as they are in the rest,
That I by loftie stile might Beautie win,
And blaze abrode her praise deserving best?
 Why have not I the Gift, her Gifts to thunder,
 And make the world thereat admire and wonder?

Could I (but as she doth deserve aright)
Sing as a Cignet sweete with pleasing vaine,
Her Vertues rare, her straining Beauties sight,
As I am blunt in Wit, and dull in Braine,
 I then should see, her Courteous, Gentle, Milde,
 Where now I finde her, Cruell, Proud and Wilde.