Messie-Block

Tell me not of a face that 's fair,    Nor lip and cheek that 's red,   Nor of the tresses of her hair,    Nor curls in order laid,   Nor of a rare seraphic voice  That like an angel sings;   Though if I were to take my choice    I would have all these things:   But if that thou wilt have me love,    And it must be a she, The only argument can move    Is that she will love me. The glories of your ladies be    But metaphors of things,   And but resemble what we see  Each common object brings.   Roses out-red their lips and cheeks,    Lilies their whiteness stain;   What fool is he that shadows seeks    And may the