In honor of the 445th birthday of my favorite homoerotic poet, here's my favorite sonnet about loving an average looking lady with stinky breath. Happy b-day, Bard.
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 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.
Labels: poetry
3 Comments:
Awesome! Thanks for posting this.
bk
What a great poem! Anon! Today is speak like Shakespeare day in Chicago.
I just had a student in an essay say he'd totally lost respect for Shakespeare after reading this poem, because how could anyone say things like that about his mistress? He thought S was mocking love, rather than sappy Romantic poet strategies.
Clearly, he didn't read the whole poem nor, really, understand it at all. Poor soul. I tried to explain that, actually, S was putting forth stronger love, since he could see his lover didn't match the typical picture but he loved her more for it. Bless him.
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