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 damasked, 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.