The speaker is admiring someone they love, and what stands out is that they don't praise polished beauty. They notice small, unguarded things: the blushes on her cheeks, her tangled strands of hair, her messy eyebrows, the loose bun. These are the details most people would call flaws or fix before being seen, yet the speaker treats them as the very things worth cherishing.
The poem is short and made of fragments, almost like a list of glimpses, as if the speaker is remembering her one detail at a time. The line "Those which I saw on your cheeks" suggests a private, close moment, someone who was near enough to see her blush. Then the ending shifts into bold, direct praise: if you looked up "perfection" in any dictionary, her name should be the definition. The mood is tender, shy, and quietly adoring. The speaker finds perfection not in neatness but in her natural, slightly untidy self.