Thursday, April 23, 2009
nothing like the sun
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.



Anonymous Anonymous said...

Awesome! Thanks for posting this.


Blogger Mary said...

What a great poem! Anon! Today is speak like Shakespeare day in Chicago.

Blogger Abs said...

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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