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.
Ее глаза на звезды не похожи, Нельзя уста кораллами назвать, Не белоснежна плеч открытых кожа, И черной проволокой вьется прядь.
С дамасской розой, алой или белой, Нельзя сравнить оттенок этих щек. А тело пахнет так, как пахнет тело, Не как фиалки нежный лепесток.
Ты не найдешь в ней совершенных линий, Особенного света на челе. Не знаю я, как шествуют богини, Но милая ступает по земле.
И все ж она уступит тем едва ли, Кого в сравненьях пышных оболгали.
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