Sonnet 204

What sure sweet honor does your beauty dress,
That loveliness which captures all men’s eyes?
Yet of your standards, virtue trumps the rest,
For smiles are oft but superficial guise.
Still few, if any, truly see your heart,
Ensconced within those charms your glass does show;
And though you view them, set you them apart,
As if they were imaginary clothes.
True elegance is that which lies within,
And is the essence of all human worth;
For those that prize prinked opalescent skin,
Their measure of true merit is perverse.
While nature’s garment often dulls with wear,
True virtue’s vestment shines forever fair.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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