coral is far more red than her lips red:
if snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
if hair 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 her her speak, yet will i know
that music hath a far more pleasing sound:
i grant i never saw a goddess go;
my mistress, when she walks, trneds on the ground:
and yet, by heaven, i think my love as rare
as any she belied with false compare
-William Shakespeare