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 damask’d, 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.
— William Shakespeare, Sonnet 130
heroditus huxley
/ April 24, 2016One of my all-time favorites.
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daddybear71
/ April 24, 2016Me too
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Old NFO
/ April 25, 2016Educating us IS a good thing! 🙂
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daddybear71
/ April 25, 2016This is to force me to think about something once a day, at least.
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