-You are the Most Beautiful-

            You are the most Beautiful
            I've ever set mine eyes upon,
            And were I a better man,
            I would do justice to your beauty
            By those deeds it deserves,
            Immortalizing you
            For all men to fall in love with,
            Until the end of time.

            Were I a painter,
            And one of required skill,
            Your portrait I'd paint,
            And grace the canvas, previously plain,
            With your Angelic immage.
            How I'd paint your lips,
            That all might know the Beauty of your smile,
            and how oft, and how well,
            you laugh.
            And So, were anyone's tired gaze to be
            rested upon it,
            How those eyes would be refreshed,
            By your sight,
            And how they should wish their gaze
            never to be taken from you,
            As I wish my gaze never to be
            Stolen from your sight.

            Were I a sculptor,
            And one of Michealangelo's gift,
            How I might fashion your figure;
            How your locks would move with the wind,
            were they not marble;
            How your eyes, though stone,
            Might shine through your face,
            Straight to the soul;
            And how, were my hands gifted or graced enough,
            Closely It might resemble you,
            That even to be near it would spring
            A sparkling of the joy,
            That your presence adds to life.

            And were I a poet, and of musical sorts,
            Such verse and melody to you I'd ode,
            And your very essence might be sampled,
            Or impossibly distilled,
            That all who hear it should feel to know you.
            So pure and potent, in your honor,
            These notes I'd write.
            That all might, on hearing,
            Though in distand lands,
            have your immage burnt into their minds eye,
            And all might know your sight,
            Though their eyes had never
            been so blessed.

            But alas, Of these I am none,
            And even with a chance,
            I may never, could never,
            Of you do justice.
            How my hands shake,
            I hardly even advise them,
            And shall never be their master.
            Though mind willing,
            All other elements seem to oppose,
            And oh, how I am bound to inaction,
            By distraction,
            And more by fear,
            That I should be named,
            And rightly,
            Impotent;
            For never have anything,
            but my thoughts,
            Been expressed,
            Though my dreams never realized.
            Still,
            You are the most Beautiful,
            These eyes have ever encountered,
            And I am certain,
            Who has ever, Bless'd the world,
            With the grace of her footsteps,
            And the shadow of her figure.

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