Classic Poem

My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,—
For she hath wealth of golden hair,
Shot through with shafts from Delos' bow,
That shines about her shoulders rare.
Like sunlight on new driven snow.

My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,—
For she hath eyes so soft and bright,
So deep the light that in them lies,
That stars in heaven would lose their light
Ashine beside my True-love's eyes.

My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,—
For oh! she hath such dainty hands,
So snowy white, so fine and small,
That had I wealth of Ophir's lands,
For one of them I 'd give it all.

My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,—
For oh; she hath a face so fair,
Such winsome light about it plays,
For worldly wealth I nothing care,
So I can look upon her face.

My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,—
For endless wealth of mind hath she,
Her heart so stored with precious lore—
Her riches they as countless be
As shells upon the ocean's shore.

My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,—
The wild-brier bough hath less of grace
And on wild violets when she treads
They turn to look into her face
And scarcely bow their azure heads.

My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,—
For oh! she hath herself, in fee,
And this is more than worlds to me.