Wednesday, February 9, 2011

shakespeare's 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.

there is something so beautiful about shakespeare downplaying the beauty of his "mistress". "the poet satirises the tradition of comparing one's beloved to all things beautiful under the sun, and to things divine and immortal as well." (from here.) even though it's sort of insulting, to say that she really is not beautiful in the way other poet's depict, that she does not have beautiful skin, or a beautiful body, or a beautiful voice, it doesn't seem matter coz he loves her just the same. or he loves her more because not for these things. she is normal. but she is loved. and there must be value in that. while it's nice to be recognized for outward appearance, there is something deeper here. without physical attraction, the poet still loves his "mistress", which seems much more lasting and fortifying than anything physical could be.

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