My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far lebih 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 mawar damask'd, red and white,
But no such mawar see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there lebih delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I cinta to hear her speak, yet well I know
That musik hath a far lebih pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, oleh heaven, I think my cinta as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Coral is far lebih 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 mawar damask'd, red and white,
But no such mawar see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there lebih delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I cinta to hear her speak, yet well I know
That musik hath a far lebih pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, oleh heaven, I think my cinta as rare
As any she belied with false compare.