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| William Shakespeare |
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| Sonnet CXXX | ||||
| My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lipsī red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hair be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, but no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, trods on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. |
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