My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far еще 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 Розы damask'd, red and white,
But no such Розы see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there еще delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I Любовь to hear her speak, yet well I know
That Музыка hath a far еще 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 Любовь as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Coral is far еще 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 Розы damask'd, red and white,
But no such Розы see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there еще delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I Любовь to hear her speak, yet well I know
That Музыка hath a far еще 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 Любовь as rare
As any she belied with false compare.