Here you will find the Poem The Measure of Beauty of poet Thomas Campion
Give Beauty all her right, She's not to one form tied; Each shape yields fair delight, Where her perfections bide: Helen, I grant, might pleasing be, And Ros'mond was as sweet as she. Some the quick eye commends, Some swelling lips and red; Pale looks have many friends, Through sacred sweetness bred: Meadows have flowers that pleasure move, Though roses are the flowers of love. Free beauty is not bound To one unmoved clime; She visits every ground And favours every time. Let the old loves with mine compare, My sovereign is as sweet as fair.