A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted <br /> Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; <br /> A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted <br /> With shifting change, as is false women's fashion; <br /> An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, <br /> Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; <br /> A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling, <br /> Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. <br /> And for a woman wert thou first created; <br /> Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, <br /> And by addition me of thee defeated, <br /> By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. <br /> But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, <br /> Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xx/
