NOR oils of balmy scent produce, Nor mirror for Minerva's use, Ye nymphs who lave her; she, arrayed In genuine beauty, scorns their aid. Not even when they left the skies To seek on Ida's head the prize From Paris' hand, did Juno deign, Or Pallas in the crystal plain Of Simois' stream her locks to trace, Or in the mirror's polished face, Though Venus oft with anxious care Adjusted twice a single hair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VILLANELLE OF CHANGE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE COAT OF FIRE by EDITH SITWELL A CHILD IS WEEPING by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS OPEN THY HEART by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS ON A CHILD SLEEPING IN CYNTHIA'S LAP by PHILIP AYRES |