Sonnet 130
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

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 damask'd, 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 musick 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 bely'd with false compare.

Eight O'Clock
A.E. Housman (1859-1936)

He stood, and heard the steeple
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
It tossed them down.

Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour,
He stood and counted them and cursed his luck;
And then the clock collected in the tower
Its strength, and struck.