1593-1603 by Shakespeare 
Sonnet 127 

1	In the old age black was not counted fair,
2	Or if it were, it bore not beauty’s name#
3	But now is black beauty’s successive heir,
4	And beauty slandered with a bastard shame:
5	For since each hand hath put on nature’s power,
6	Fairing the foul with art’s false borrowed face,
7	Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
8	But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
9	Therefore my mistress’ eyes are raven-black,
10	Her brow so suited, and they mourners seem
11	At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
12	Sland’ring creation with a false esteem.
13	Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
14	That every tongue says beauty should look so.