[RCL]

I've always liked this imperfect poem for its demonstration that it's the imperfect human element that makes art attractive. Here, the oxymorons and imperfect meter and rhyme:

DELIGHT IN DISORDER.
by Robert Herrick

A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness :
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction :
An erring lace which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher :
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly :
A winning wave (deserving note)
In the tempestuous petticoat :
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility :
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.