RICH Damask Roses in fair cheeks do bide
Of my sweet Girl, like April in his prime:
But her hard heart, cold chilly snow doth hide;
Of bitter Januar, the perfect sign.
Her hair of gold shows yellow like the corn
In July, when the sun doth scorch the ground;
And her fair breast, ripe fruit which doth adorn
September rich. So as in her is found
Both Harvest, Summer, Winter, Spring to be:
Which you in breast, hair, heart, and face may see.