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 damasked***, 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.***** Sonnet 130 by William Shakespeare в оригинале