| My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; |
1 |
| Coral is far more red than her lips' red; |
|
| If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; |
|
| If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. |
|
| I have seen roses damasked, red and white, |
5 |
| 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; |
10 |
| I grant I never saw a goddess go; |
|
| My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. |
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| And yet by heaven I think my love as rare |
|
| As any she belied with false compare. |
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