My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; br Coral is far more red than her lips' red: br If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; br If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. br I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, br But no such roses see I in her cheeks; br And in some perfumes is there more delight br Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. br I love to hear her speak, yet well I know br That music hath a far more pleasing sound. br I grant I never saw a goddess go: br My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground. br And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare br As any she belied with false compare.