Classic Poem

I cannot say that she is tall,
Her skin is dark, her body small.
But parsley cannot match her hair,
More soft than down her bosom fair,
Sweet is her voice, its magic charm
Like Venus' girdle soft and warm,
And best of all, she does my will
Nor ever seeks her purse to fill.
So, as she is, I'll love her yet
Till I a maid more perfect meet.