''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 hair be wires black wires grow on her head

I have seen roses Damask, Red and White

But no such roses see I in her cheeks

And in some perfume 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 Godess go
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground

Yet by heaven I think my love as rare

As any she belied in false compare''