My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun
Coral is far more red than her lips red
If snow be white why then her breast are dull
If hairs be wires black wires grow on her head
I have seen roses damasked
But no such roses see I in her cheeks
And in some perfumes there far, far, far more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress breaths
I love to hear her speak
Yet well I know that music has far more pleasing sound
I never saw a Goddess go
But my mistress when she walks treats on the ground
And yet by heaven I think my love
As rare as any she belied with false compare