Coral is far more red than her lips' red: If
snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hair 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.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE in book
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