Sonnet 135

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 dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked , red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfunes is there more delight
Then 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 mistess, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

-- William Shakespeare