Sonnet 130
Original

My lovers’ eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than his lips' red;

If snow be white, why then his chest is dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on his head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in his cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my lover reeks.

I love to hear him speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a deity go;

My lover, when he walks, treads on the ground.

   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

   As any he belied with false compare.