Nov 6 -
brittadictarnold / lisztomania / waitforthecreme
Sonnet 130 by William Shakespeare (Audio by Alan Rickman)
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.
I decided one day to just have a reminder to myself about a certain day, so that maybe, when I'm older, and I have this blog printed out (because you know, nothing beats a hard copy), I'll read it and I'll laugh at the appropriate moments, and cringe at the rest.
