A Response from Shakespeare's Mistress

My sir's eyes compare not to the light moon;

Clouds are far more soft than his lip's surface;

If flesh be bloom, why then his like a prune's;

If hairs be chords, dust chords flee his dermis.

I have seen poppies sharp, pink and scarlet,

But no such colors see I in his gills;

And in some fragrances is there more sparkle

Than in the stench that from my sir is spilled.

I love to hear his voice, yet I know well

That any tune hath a far more sweet call;

I vouch I ne'er saw an Earthen god dwell;

My sir sways upon drinking alcohol.

Now my beloved, why are you maddened?

For I feel the same, you ought be gladdened.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741