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I'm bringing back Sonnet 11 for your viewing enjoyment.

Sonnet 11

What’s that among the garden do I see,
Whose strength survives a life borne out of thorns,
Who holds her throne of banners burgundy
With blood of all the lovers that she scorns?
Tis her above, in roseate gowns aglow,
Majestic garments draped about her frame,
With gilded lilies bowing down below
To fuel the source of Beauty’s humble flame.
Now who along the garden makes her start,
With auburn locks of beauty from her crown,
And holds her throne within my thriving heart,
And with these crimson banners makes her gown?
Tis her who takes the rose within her hand,
A simple prop for beauty oh so grand.