Gedichte 
SONNETT 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 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 form 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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