| 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, | 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: | |
| And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare | |
| As any she belied with false compare. |