My Dove
If thy love was a sunset streak'd with red,
The c'lestial sun mine eyes no longer grace.
The moon draws waters I have learned to tread;
I see her rosy cheeks and snow white face.
Her face: white feathers after greasy black;
Some shed of hope amid thy faded light,
Amid thy painted face and horrid quack,
Amid thy sick'ning voice and frosty sight.
Her figure show a queen's demeanor, lo!
Eyes whispering of waves far out at sea;
She is the moon, she is the rooster's crow
That woke me from the spell thou put on me.
This note ends my lamentable bird's song
So I may fly with my dove all night long.
A Midsummer Night's Dream: Act III, scene ii
Lysander to Hermia