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
