AH, Venus, white-limbed mother of delight, Why shouldst thou tease her with a dream so dear? Winged tenderness of kisses, hovering near, Her gentle longings cheat. Forbidden sight Of eager eyes doth through the virgin night Perplex her innocence with cherished fear. O cruel thou, with sweets to ripen here In wintry cloisters what can know but blight. Wilt leave her now to scorn? The lictors' blows To-morrow shall be merciless. The light Dies on the altar! Nay, swift through the night, Comes pitiful the queen of young desire, That reddened in a dream this chaste white rose, And lights with silver torch the fallen fire. |