 Valentine Poetry. Sonnet # 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 hair 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 fair As any she belied with false compare. My commentary on this, lest one think this poem unflattering to Shakespeare's fair Muse, is that I agree with the view of it given to us via the 1980s movie Dead Poet's Society; Shakespeare is here not holding his gal up to any unfathomable ideal, but giving his view of her, in all her flaws, and telling us that despite all this, he loves and worships her, more than any goddess ever conceived. That, my dear readers, is love indeed. *sigh*  Home |