Part 12 (2/2)

He saw thee well. The truth is not denied; The sh.o.r.e was proud to show thee to the sun.

XIII.

Never since Venus, at a G.o.d's decree, Uprose from ocean, has there lived on earth A face like thine, a form of so much worth; And nowhere has the moon-obeying sea Known such perfection, down from head to knee, And knee to foot, since that Olympian birth.

XIV.

And, sooth, the moon was anxious to have placed Her head beside thee, on the waters bright.

But she was foil'd; for thou so late at night Wouldst not go forth: no! not to be embraced By Nature's Queen, though, round about the waist, She would have ring'd thee with her softest light.

XV.

Ah me! had I a lute of sovereign power I would enlarge on this, and plainly show That there is nothing like thee here below,-- Nothing so comely, nothing in its dower Of youth and grace, so like a human flower, And white withal, and guiltless as the snow.

XVI.

For thou art fair as lilies, with the flush That roses have while waiting for a kiss; And when thou smilest nothing comes amiss.

The earth is glad to see thy dimpled blush.

Had I the lute of Orpheus I would hush All meaner sounds to tell the stars of this.

XVII.

I would, I swear, by Pallas' own consent, Inform all creatures whom the stars behold That thou art mine, and that a pen of gold, With ink of fire, though by an angel lent, Were all too poor to tell my true content, And how I love thee seven times seventy fold.

XVIII.

And sure am I that, in the ancient days, Achilles heard no voice so pa.s.sing sweet, And none so trancing, none that could compete With thine for fervour; none, in watery ways Where Neptune dwelt, so worthy of the praise Of Thetis' son, the sure and swift of feet.

XIX.

He never met upon the plains of Troy G.o.ddess or maiden so divinely fraught.

Not Helen's self, for whom the Trojans fought, Was like to thee. Her love had much alloy, But thine has none. Her beauty was a toy, But thine's a gem, unsullied and unbought.

XX.

And ne'er was seen by poet, in a sweven, An eye like thine, a face so fair to see As that which makes the sunlight sweet to me.

Nor need I wait for death, or for the levin In yonder cloud, to find the path to Heaven.

It fronts me here. 'Tis manifest in thee!

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