Уильям Шекспир.

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.

P.S.: Мой любимый сонет. Училка по английскому в восьмом классе заставила нас всех его выучить. Это вам не Пушкин, было сложно, но выучить пришлось. Зато теперь я до сих пор его помню. Спасибо ей :)