[Oh, yes, the flowers of May are not her face]

Oh, yes, the flowers of May are not her face
The gentle moonshine never shines her grace
The halo of the sun is not her crown
The chestnut of swiss hazel's not in her gown

The voice she does produce akins not songs
The movement she may use marks no princess
Her glance does not remind an angel's frown
Her body does not speak the gymnast's pace

Still, sure, the Virgin Mary is she not
Nor does she sleep with Aphrodite's charm
Though Mona Lisa's calm in her is not
And though she's not serene as like a psalm

I do, in fairness find in her device
That motions in my eyes unwordly bliss
And though my lady is not exempt from vice
I'd die to have from her one only kiss

[GM]