num_pages: 2
description: Sonnet 130My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;Coral is far more red, than her lips 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 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 I grant I never saw a goddess go,My mistress, when she walks, treads on the And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,As any she belied with false compare.
language: English
title: Sonnet 130