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Best Famous Cxxx Poems

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Sonnet CXXX: My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun

  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.

Written by William Shakespeare |

Sonnet CXXX

  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.

Written by Francesco Petrarch |

Sonnet CXXX

SONNET CXXX.
 Amor, che vedi ogni pensiero aperto.
 HE CARES NOT FOR SUFFERINGS, SO THAT HE DISPLEASE NOT LAURA.
  Love, thou who seest each secret thought display'd,And the sad steps I take, with thee sole guide;This throbbing breast, to thee thrown open wide,To others' prying barr'd, thine eyes pervade.Thou know'st what efforts, following thee, I made,While still from height to height thy pinions glide;Nor deign'st one pitying look to turn asideOn him who, fainting, treads a trackless glade.I mark from far the mildly-beaming rayTo which thou goad'st me through the devious maze;Alas! I want thy wings, to speed my way—Henceforth, a distant homager, I'll gaze,Content by silent longings to decay,So that my sighs for her in her no anger raise.
 Wrangham.  [Pg 156] O Love, that seest my heart without disguise,And those hard toils from thee which I sustain,Look to my inmost thought; behold the painTo thee unveil'd, hid from all other eyes.Thou know'st for thee this breast what suffering tries;Me still from day to day o'er hill and plainThou chasest; heedless still, while I complainAs to my wearied steps new thorns arise.True, I discern far off the cheering lightTo which, through trackless wilds, thou urgest me:But wings like thine to bear me to delightI want:—Yet from these pangs I would not flee,Finding this only favour in her sight,That not displeased my love and death she see.
 Capel Lofft.