Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
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;
But no such roses I see in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath from my mistress reaks:
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."
Sonnet 130 WS