Shakespeare

Shakespeare

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:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

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2 comments

  1. Chris · March 12, 2013

    When I consider every thing that grows
    Holds in perfection but a little moment,
    That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
    Whereon the stars in secret influence comment…
    Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
    Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
    Where wasteful Time debateth with decay
    To change your day of youth to sullied night,
    And all in war with Time for love of you,
    As he takes from you, I engraft you new

  2. jackspratt823 · March 12, 2013

    Wow ! How brave, taking on WS on his home turf, the sonnet. I love it- it’s clever, it sticks to the rules and, most importantly, has the real spirit of the man from Strtford in it. I congratulate you.

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