Sonnet 130My mistress eyes are nothing like the sunCoral is far more red than her lips redIf snow be white why then her breasts are dunIf hairs be wires black wires grow on her head.I have seen roses damaskd red and whiteBut no such roses see I in her cheeksAnd in some perfumes is there more delightThan in the breath that from my mistress reeks.I love to hear her speak yet well I knowThat music hath a far more pleasing soundI grant I never saw a goddess goMy 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.