I do not love thee for that fair <br />Rich fan of thy most curious hair; <br />Though the wires thereof be drawn <br />Finer than threads of lawn, <br />And are softer than the leaves <br />On which the subtle spider weaves. <br /> <br />I do not love thee for those flowers <br />Growing on thy cheeks, love's bowers; <br />Though such cunning them hath spread, <br />None can paint them white and red: <br />Love's golden arrows thence are shot, <br />Yet for them I love thee not. <br /> <br />I do not love thee for those soft <br />Red coral lips I've kissed so oft, <br />Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard <br />To speech whence music still is heard; <br />Though from those lips a kiss being taken <br />Mighty tyrants melt, and death awaken. <br /> <br />I do not love thee, O my fairest, <br />For that richest, for that rarest <br />Silver pillar, which stands under <br />Thy sound head, that globe of wonder; <br />Though that neck be whiter far <br />Than towers of polished ivory are.<br /><br />Thomas Carew<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-do-not-love-thee-for-that-fair/
