My Mistress' Eyes are Nothing Like the Sun
my mistress' 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 damaskt, red and white,
but no such roses see i in her cheeks;
and in some perfume 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 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.
say hello to mr. shakespeare people :)
footnote: seriusly if my guy ever recite that poem to me. i will slap him first than kiss him.