Shakespeare's Sonnet 132

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain,Have put on black and loving mourners be,Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.And truly not the morning sun of heavenBetter becomes the grey cheeks of the east,Nor that full star that ushers in the even,Doth half that glory to the sober west,As those two mourning eyes become thy face:O! let it then as well beseem thy heartTo mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace,And suit thy pity like in every part.Then will I swear beauty herself is black,And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

I love your eyes. They seem to pity me, knowing that your heart torments me with contempt. They have dressed in black like loving mourners, looking with lovely sympathy at my pain. Truly, the morning sun does not make the gray eastern sky more beautiful, nor does the bright star that brings in evening give the quiet west half the glory that those two mourning eyes give your face.
Then let it suit your heart just as well to mourn for me, since mourning makes you beautiful. Let every part of you show the same pity. Then I will swear that beauty itself is dark, and that everyone without your coloring is ugly.