Fairystory Poem by Sarah Elizabeth Clark

Mine own beloved is of honour made.
Thou couldst not compare by word or in deed,
His virtues to others of similar seed.
Methinks his perfection in time only stayed,
Thou shalt ne'er know such beauty to fade.
How doth he avoid sloth, rage and greed?
Though he hath called in taverns, brimming with mead.
For even in jest, he draweth no blade.
Oh, sweet my beloved, thou temper divine,
I have oft spoken long of all your fine grace.
Long have I have dreamt of the day we be wed,
When thereafter and more, thou shalt be mine.
If only, my love, we could stand face to face,
You weren't but a figure within mine own head.