Classic Poem

Rich Damaske Roses in faire cheekes doo bide
Of my sweet Girle, like Aprill in his prime:
But her hard Hart cold chilly snow doth hide,
Of bitter Janiver the perfect signe.
Her Haire of gold, showes yealow like the Corne
In July , when the Sunne doth scortch the ground;
And her faire Brest ripe frute, which doth adorne
September rich: so as in her is found
Both Harvest, Summer, Winter, Spring to bee;
Which you in Brest, Haire, Hart, and Face may see.