Drogiemu P. to co zwykłem czytać… 🙂
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun –
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red –
If snow be white, why then her breats 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 heav’n I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.