my mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
coral is far more red than her lips' red;
if snow be white, why then her breast are dun;
if hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
i have seen roses damasked, 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 goddes go;
my mistress when she walks treads on the ground.

and yet, by heaven, i think my love as rar
as any she belied with false compare.

(sonnet 130, Shakespeare)

lol