Albeit, I know you could never sin,
Since perfection comes without from within.
It touches ev’ry aspect of your form—
The round eyes your golden face does adorn,
Thy blemishless skin ‘neath which you take dorm,
Your ears, and how your hair is shorn.
To gaze upon your form does me distress;
Even reverent glances must transgress.
What a radiant goddess graces earth!
How you have mortal men much affrighted!
We scurry lest defects should be sighted,
Which’d afterwards make us e’er curse birth.
Prithee, what is it like within your core,
Since countenance’s where weak wash ashore?