When it comes to the skin tone of certain Anglo-Saxon women, my dark complexion pales by comparison. 

For though her skin’s as ivory fair, 
As a clutch of eggs 
In the care, of 
A snowbird’s nest of wooly flue, 
With each glance I cast at her, 
I face this unfair truth: 
Against her shell, 
I’ll always pale — 
    Though ruddy is my hue.