SWEETHEART

Sweetheart, that thou art fair I know,

More fair to me

Than flowers that make the loveliest show

To tempt the bee.

When other girls, whose faces are,

Beside thy face,

As rushlights to the evening star,

Deny thy grace,

I silent sit and let them speak,

As men of strength

Allow the impotent and weak

To rail at length.

If they should tell me Love is blind,

And so doth miss

The faults which they are quick to find,

I'd answer this:

Envy is blind; not Love, whose eyes

Are purged and clear

Through gazing on the perfect skies

Of thine, my dear.