Saturday, September 12, 2015

Something different

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun 

(Sonnet 130
by William Shakespeare)
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
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 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.
(Many people believe this is an expression of true love: the opposite of blind, the opposite of flattering, the opposite of false compare. Personally, I'd be glad to receive a little bit of fake gold dusting on a love poem. What do you think?)

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