If my love first bristled rife with thorns

If my love first bristled rife with thorns
A hedgehog whose hidden heart beat true,
Or if my love no wonderment could ken
Beyond the near dog star, whose sole blaze she knew,
Or if her mien plumped ponderous as bagged cement
But goodness in her stolid looks was meant

I'd not protest a poke whose purpose kissed
Nor shirk her smiting smile, but be smitten,
Nor once critique the false laugh that lisped
But stuff my ears with sighs of sweetest wish. 
And the shining sharps of stars I'd thought forgotten
In her true love's tears would pool unbroken.

This erudite test I'd pass was never sent
Since your untutored beauty beauty lent.