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My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun
Coral is far more red than her lips red'
If snow be white; then her breasts are dun
If hair be wires, black wires grow on her head

I have seen roses damask'd red and white
Yet no such roses I see in her cheeks.
And in some perfumes there is more delight
than from the breath my mistress reeks

I love to hear her speak yet well I know
music hath a far more pleasing sound
I grant I never saw a goddess go
my mistress when she walks treads upon the ground
Yet I think my love is rare
as any she belied with false compare

William Shakespeare's Goddess