“The Dark Lady” by William Shakespeare 🥀
Shakespeare describes his mistress in an unexpectedly rude way:
“Her eyes are nothing like the sun.”
“Snow be white. Her skin is not.”
“Some perfumes give more delight than the breath from my mistress.”
At first, the poem hardly sounds romantic.
And yet… 👀
Conventional poets describe their lovers through impossible comparisons: eyes brighter than the sun, skin whiter than snow, and a walk like that of a goddess.
📜 Shakespeare refuses that.
He admits that his mistress is not cliché beautiful. He sees her as she truly is, without exaggeration or illusion, and still considers his love rare.
So, what is more romantic?
A poet who insists that his lover is perfect—or one who sees every imperfection and still loves her? 🤔
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