Rudeness or flattery?

In my Lit. class, we're working on a lot of early English poetry, full of hopelessly romantic ideals and silly notions. So when you run across something like Shakespeare's Sonnet 130 it stands out:

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 music 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 belied with false compare.

Really, it's quite interesting ( not to mention I'm currently writing an essay about it, so I can't get it out of my mind). It does raise the question, well posed by Charlotte Brontë : Do you prefer flattery or rudeness in love? Or do you hope there's a middle ground because neither are ideal? Either way, this poem, for the period it was written in, leans dangerously to the honest side, with a touch of sarcasm. It's a personal favorite. Well said, Bard.