For Later, with Apologies to Bill

My mistress eyes are sparkling like the sun.

No coral on earth is as red as her lips' red.

If snow be white, why then her breasts are mounds.

If hairs be wires, fine wires grow from her head.

I've seen roses demasked, red and white,

And these roses dance in her cheeks.

And in no perfume is there as much delight

As the breath which from my mistress seeps.

I love to hear her speak, and now I know

That music hath no more pleasing sound.

I grant, I never saw a goddess go

My mistress, with each foot, kisses the ground

And yes, I think my love so rare

as to be entirely without compare.

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