Classic Poem

Clear or cloudy, sweet as April showering,
Smooth or frowning, so is her face to me;
Pleased or smiling, like mild May all flowering,
When skies blue silk, and meadows carpets be;
Her speeches, notes of that night bird that singeth,
Who thought all sweet, yet jarring notes out-ringeth.

Her grace, like June when earth and trees be trimmed
In best attire of còmplete beauty's height;
Her love, again like summer's days, be dimmed
With little clouds of doubtful constant faith:
Her trust, her doubt, like rain and heat in skies
Gently thund'ring, she lightning to mine eyes.

Sweet summer-spring that breatheth life and growing
In weeds as much as into herbs and flowers,
And sees of service divers sorts in sowing,
Some haply seeming, and some being, yours;
Rain on your herbs and flowers that truly serve,
And let your weeds lack dew, and duly sterve.