- 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.