Classic Poem

My Love, I cannot thy rare beauties place
Under those forms which many writers use:
Some like to stones compare their mistress' face;
Some in the name of flowers do love abuse;
Some makes their love a goldsmith's shop to be,
Where orient pearls and precious stones abound:
In my conceit these far do disagree
The perfect praise of beauty forth to sound.
O Chloris, thou dost imitate thyself!
Self's imitating passeth precious stones,
Or all the Eastern-Indian golden pelf:
Thy red and white with purest fair atones.
Matchless for beauty Nature hath thee framed,
Only unkind and cruel thou art named.