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CXXX
- 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 be 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 (1564-1616)
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