Shakespeare, William: CXXX. Sonnet

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why, then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses I see in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than 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 mistress, when she walks, tread on the ground:

   And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare,
   As any she belied with false compare.