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Classic Love Poems
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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.

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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.

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And yet, by heaven,

I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.


William Shakespeare

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