When I compare my frame to other men:
I weep, and mirror's glass weeps for me too,
By height it seems their taller shrinks me when-
With force that they deny me greater view.
My dome's as barest 'neath their hairs of lush;
Of thickly grass by substanced strength unknown
How happy must they smile in each a brush
And pleasure's reep by winds that have them blown.
They boast by skin and shape, by right they're art,
Which have me think of art that I am fond:
A lover which attends my mirror's heart
As she's since loved with love's devoutly bond:

As I recall the loveliness she sends
I frown to trade for all their beauty lends!