Classic Poem

If April fresh, doth kindely give us flowers,
September yeeldes with more increase the frute:
(Sweetest) you have in bosome (Beauties Bowers)
Both these sweete tides, whence forth they alwayes shute;
Both flower and fruite alonely you alone
Can give me when you please, or else can none.
Oh dainty bosome, bosome rich in prise,
Surmounting mountaines huge of beaten gold:
Whose whitenes braves the whitest snow that lies
On highest hilles, whose height none can behold:
In you my soule doth hope without annoy,
Both spring and harvest, one day to enjoy.