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 damask'd ,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 :