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That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

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I grant I never saw a goddess go;

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My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

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And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

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As any she belied with false compare.

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Sonnet 130 My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

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William Shakespeare ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

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Let me not to the marriage of true minds

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Admit impediments. Love is not love

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Which alters when it alteration finds,

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Or bends with the remover to remove:

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O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

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That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

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It is the star to every wandering bark,

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Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

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Within his bending sickle's compass come:

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Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

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But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

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If this be error and upon me proved,

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I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

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Sonnet 116 Let me not to the marriage of true minds

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William Shakespeare ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

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O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power

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Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;

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Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st

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Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;

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If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,

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As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,

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She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill