Pensive Power

If i recount to my good lady
How beautiful i see of thee.
Nay, what i say is surely true:
Nothing will compare to you.

Nay, not a flower in a sea
of other ghoulish-looking trees.
Nay, not a pebble in the sky
in the midst of the blue blue dye.
Not even a precious stone
Set in gold, ready to be thrown.
Nay, what I say is surely true:
Nothing will compare to you.

Nay, not the beautiful cities
Adorned with aristocratic pities.
Nay, not the tallest spires
Where one may perish and tire.
Not even the glint of the night
Close as though it seems it might.
Nay, what I say is surely true:
Nothing will compare to you.

Nay, not a thing comes close
Except the suitors in their droves.
Nay, not one thing deemed pretty
Strays anywhere near you, pretty.
Not even the most beautiful of town
Would dare to take your crown.
Nay, what I say is surely true:
Nothing will compare to you.