My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; <br />Coral is far more red than her lips' red: <br />If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; <br />If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. <br />I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, <br />But no such roses see I in her cheeks; <br />And in some perfumes is there more delight <br />Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. <br />I love to hear her speak, yet well I know <br />That music hath a far more pleasing sound. <br />I grant I never saw a goddess go: <br />My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground. <br />And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare <br />As any she belied with false compare.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-cxxx-my-mistress-eyes-are-nothing-like-th/
