My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)
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 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 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.
MAN AND WOMAN (English translation)
Man is the most elevated of creatures,
Woman the most sublime of ideals.
God made for man a throne; for Woman an altar.
The throne exalts; the altar sanctifies.
Man is the brain; Woman, the heart.
The brain creates light; the heart, love.
Light engenders; love resurrects.
Because of reason Man is strong.
Because of tears Woman is invincible.
Reason is convincing; tears, moving.
Man is capable of all heroism.
Woman of all martyrdom.
Heroism ennobles; martyrdom sublimates.
Man has supremacy; Woman, preference.
Supremacy is strength.
Preference is the right.
Man is a genius; Woman, an angel.
Genius is immeasurable; the angel indefinable.
The aspiration of man is supreme glory.
The aspiration of woman is extreme virtue.
Glory creates all that is great; virtue, all that is divine.
Man is a code; Woman a gospel.
A code corrects; the gospel perfects.
Man thinks; Woman dreams.
To think is to have a worm in the brain.
To dream is to have a halo on the brow.
Man is an ocean, Woman a lake.
The ocean has the adorning pearl; the lake, dazzling poetry.
Man is the flying eagle; Woman, the singing nightingale.
To fly is to conquer space; to sing is to conquer the soul.
Man is a temple; Woman a shrine.
Before the temple we discover ourselves; before the shrine we kneel.
In short, man is found where earth finishes, woman where heaven begins.
When the voice of thy lute at the eve
Charmeth the ear,
In the hour of enchantment believe
What I murmur near.
That the tune can the Age of Gold
With its magic restore.
Play on, play on, my fair one,
Play on for evermore.
When thy laugh like the song of the dawn
Riseth so gay
That the shadows of Night are withdrawn
And melt away,
I remember my years of care
And misgiving no more.
Laugh on, laugh on, my fair one,
Laugh on for evermore.
When thy sleep like the moonlight above
Lulling the sea,
Doth enwind thee in visions of love,
Perchance, of me!
I can watch so in dream that enthralled me,
Sleep on, sleep on, my fair one!
Sleep on for evermore.
Victor Hugo on
THE GRAVE AND THE ROSE
The Grave said to the Rose,
“What of the dews of dawn,
Love’s flower, what end is theirs?”
“And what of spirits flown,
The souls whereon doth close
The tomb’s mouth unawares?”
The Rose said to the Grave.
The Rose said, “In the shade
From the dawn’s tears is made
A perfume faint and strange,
Amber and honey sweet.”
“And all the spirits fleet
Do suffer a sky-change,
More strangely than the dew,
To God’s own angels new,”
The Grave said to the Rose.
Victor Hugo on
I know a woman start it that war between my mind and my heart,
the funny no one of them win because they lose her.