Is this the face that launch’d a thousand ships?
Doth Helen envy likely grace within?
My joy, thou should’st be sin; thy lovely lips
Do tender kiss my face and all therein;
Be so the cause of shipwrecks in thy way
And countless errors which mistake thee light -
Not so, thou truly art the light of day -
And darkness’ sorrow in the brink of night:
Are sailors there deceiv’d by such visage
Thou dost produce by ev’ry sway of grace -
Would thence give off thy lingering mirage
When givest truth that lieth in thy face.
Wert so the image these eyes thee detect,
No soul, nor heart shall cruelty affect.