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.
…
Coma’l soreli, po, a no lùšin i vuj sos;
il coràl tant pì ros daj làvris sos al è;
tal blanc da la nèif, nèris li tètis ti ghi jòs;
se’i cjaviej fìi di fièr a sòn, il cjaf so feràn al è.
Ròšis jodùt i’ai in ros e’n blanc coloràdis,
ma’n ta li mosèlis, po, ròšis no gh’ jòt;
e pì gust a dàn tanti ròbis profumàdis
che’l flat so, cal naša, e puc, ma puc i gòt.
I’ai gust a sìntila tabajà, ma’i saj ben jò
che la mùšica tant pì ben a suna;
il vaevèn di na dèa i no’ai maj jodùt, po,
ma la maroša me di strisinasi sì ca’è buna.
E pur, jòt tu, nisun ’altra ’n tal mont intej
a’n d’è che di stàmi dongja i preferìs vej.
The sonnet is Shakespeare's Sonnet 130.
