Shakespeare's Sonnet 130 flows effortlessly through a series of what we might call false comparisons or startling contrasts. Shakespeare takes all the common similes of praise and turns them upside down, shocking us but also developing a delightful rhythm that turns the poem into a surprising song of love. Let's see how this works.

The poet begins with a shocking statement: "My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun." This is certainly not what we expect in a sonnet, but the poet continues these "false comparisons" in a fast and furious series over the next three lines. He says that coral is more red than his mistress' lips, her breasts are dun rather than white like snow, and black wires grow on her head. The rhythm here is quick, hitting us four times in succession with the speaker's statements about everything his beloved is not.

Then the poem slows its pace a bit. It continues to present its startling contrasts, but now it takes two lines for each of them. The speaker has drawn us in by his quick assertions. Now he can slow down and develop his ideas. He speaks of roses (but not in his mistress' cheeks), perfume (but not his mistress' breath), and music (but not his mistress' voice). His mistress, he implies, is no goddess, but a very real woman who "treads on the ground." These contrasts flow smoothly one to the next, and we follow easily.

Then in the final two lines, the speaker pulls a bit of surprise on us. He disrupts the rhythm he has created and claims that he loves his mistress no matter what and does not have to make false comparisons to prove his love. He loves the real woman. We cannot help but be satisfied with the last "notes" of the poem.