William Shakespeare



Sonnet 130

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. __________________________________________________ Вернуться на страницу автора


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