whose aid is lent
     To lovers lifting the tuned instrument,
     Not one of rippled strings and funeral tone. 
     And doth the man pursue a tightened zone,
     Then be it as the Laurel God he runs,
     Confirmed to win, with countenance the Sun’s.

     Should pity bless the tremulous voice of woe
     He lifts for pity, limp his offspring show. 
     For him requiring woman’s arts to please
     Infantile tastes with babe reluctances,
     No race of giants!  In the woman’s veins
     Persuasion ripely runs, through hers the pains. 
     Her choice of him, should kind occasion nod,
     Aspiring blends the Titan with the God;
     Yet unto dwarf and mortal, she, submiss
     In her high Lady’s mandate, yields the kiss;
     And is it needed that Love’s daintier brute
     Be snared as hunter, she will tempt pursuit. 
     She is great Nature’s ever intimate
     In breast, and doth as ready handmaid wait,
     Until perverted by her senseless male,
     She plays the winding snake, the shrinking snail,
     The flying deer, all tricks of evil fame,
     Elusive to allure, since he grew tame.

     Hence has the Goddess, Nature’s earliest Power,
     And greatest and most present, with her dower
     Of the transcendent beauty, gained repute
     For meditated guile.  She laughs to hear
     A charge her garden’s labyrinths scarce confute,
     Her garden’s histories tell of to all near. 
     Let it be said, But less upon her guile
     Doth she rely for her immortal smile. 
     Still let the rumour spread, and terror screens
     To push her conquests by the simplest means. 
     While man abjures not lustihead, nor swerves
     From earth’s good labours, Beauty’s Queen he serves.

     Her spacious garden and her garden’s grant
     She offers in reward for handsome cheer: 
     Choice of the nymphs whose looks will slant
     The secret down a dewy leer
     Of corner eyelids into haze: 
     Many a fair Aphrosyne
     Like flower-bell to honey-bee: 
     And here they flicker round the maze
     Bewildering him in heart and head: 
     And here they wear the close demure,
     With subtle peeps to reassure: 
     Others parade where love has bled,
     And of its crimson weave their mesh: 
     Others to snap of fingers leap,
     As bearing breast with love asleep. 
     These are her laughters in the flesh. 
     Or would she fit a warrior mood,
     She lights her seeming unsubdued,
     And indicates the fortress-key. 
     Or is it heart for heart that craves,
     She flecks along a run of waves
     The one to promise deeper sea.