Rose

Sonnets, [130]. “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 demasked, red and white,/ But no such roses see I 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, treads on the ground./ And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare/ As any she belied with false compare.”