Classic Poem

What care I though she be fair —
— Hair, snow-like hand, or sun-like eye —
If in that beauty I not share?
— Were she deformid, what care I?

What care I though she be foul —
— Hair, swarthy hand, or sun-burnt eye —
So long as I enjoy her soul?
— Let her be so, why what care I?

Dim sight is cozened with a gloss
— Of gaudy gown, or humorous hair;
Such gold in melting leaves more dross
— Than some unpolished pieces share.

Be she fair, or foul, or either,
Or made up of both together,
Be her heart mine, hair, hand, or eye
Be what it will, why what care I?

What care I though she be fair —
— Hair, snow-like hand, or sun-like eye —
If in that beauty I not share?
— Were she deformid, what care I?

What care I though she be foul —
— Hair, swarthy hand, or sun-burnt eye —
So long as I enjoy her soul?
— Let her be so, why what care I?

Dim sight is cozened with a gloss
— Of gaudy gown, or humorous hair;
Such gold in melting leaves more dross
— Than some unpolished pieces share.

Be she fair, or foul, or either,
Or made up of both together,
Be her heart mine, hair, hand, or eye
Be what it will, why what care I?