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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sunC**** is far more red than her lips' redIf snow be white why then her breasts are dunIf hairs be wires black wires grow on her head.I have seen roses damasked red and whiteBut no such roses see I in her cheeksAnd in some perfumes is there more delightThan in the breath that from my mistress reeks.I love to hear her speak yet well I knowThat music hath a far more pleasing soundI 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 rareAs any she belied with false compare.- Sonnet 130 by William Shakespeare (ADULT)
