English poem
Sonnet 127: In the old age black was not counted fair
In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; But now is black beauty's successive heir, And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame: For since each hand hath put on Nature's power, Fairing the foul with Art's false borrowed face, Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, Sland'ring creation with a false esteem: Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe, That every tongue says beauty should look so.
More by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 123: No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change
- Sonnet 124: If my dear love were but the child of state
- Sonnet 125: Were't aught to me I bore the canopy
- Sonnet 126: O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
- Sonnet 128: How oft when thou, my music, music play'st
- Sonnet 129: The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
- Sonnet 12: When I do count the clock that tells the time
- Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun