sonnet 130
my mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
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 damask'd, 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, treads on the ground:
and yet, by heaven, i think my love as rare
as any she belied with false compare.
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 damask'd, 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, treads on the ground:
and yet, by heaven, i think my love as rare
as any she belied with false compare.