By Edmund Spenser
Men call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that youself ye daily do see.
But the true fair,that is the gentle wit
And virtuous mind, is much more prais'd of me.
For all the rest, however fair it be,
Shall turn to nought and lose that glorious hue.
But only that is permanent and free
From frail coruption, that doth flesh ensue.
That is true beauty. that doth argue you
To be divine and born of heavenly seed,
Deriv'd from that fair Spirit from whom all true
And perfect beauty did at first proceed.
He only fair, and what He fair hath made;
All other fair like flowers untimely fade.
Jacqueline wanted me to put her favorite romantic poem( and the only one she knows) up also.
By William Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown although his height be taken.
Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error , and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.