My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far Mehr 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 Rosen damask'd, red and white,
But no such Rosen see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there Mehr delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I Liebe to hear her speak, yet well I know
That Musik hath a far Mehr pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, Von heaven, I think my Liebe as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Coral is far Mehr 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 Rosen damask'd, red and white,
But no such Rosen see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there Mehr delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I Liebe to hear her speak, yet well I know
That Musik hath a far Mehr pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, Von heaven, I think my Liebe as rare
As any she belied with false compare.