William Shakespeare - Sonnets

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red then her lips’ red;

If snow be white, why then her brests are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses demasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Then in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound.

I grant I never saw a goddes go;

My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.

And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare 

As any belied with false compare.