It is not Beauty I demand,
  A crystal brow, the moon’s despair,
Nor the snow’s daughter, a white hand,
  Nor mermaid’s yellow pride of hair:

Tell me not of your starry eyes,
  Your lips that seem on roses fed,
Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies
  Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed,—

A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks...