Classic Poem

Sweete rose, whence is this hue
Which doth all hues excell?
Whence this most fragrant smell,
And whence this forme and gracing grace in you?
In flowrie Paestum's field perhaps yee grew,
Or Hybla's hills you bred,
Or odoriferous Enna's plaines you fed,
Or Tmolus, or where bore young Adon slew;
Or hath the queene of love you dy'd of new
In that deare bloud, which makes you looke so red?
No, none of those, but cause more high you blist,
My ladie's brest you bare, and lips you kist.