How could I think of battles more
With thee within my arms!
But thou shalt lend thy perfect form
To all I fashion best;
I'll paint thee first, Madonna-wise,
The infant on thy breast.
I'll paint thee as a startled nymph,
Myself a following faun;
And still pursue thy flying feet
Across the woodland lawn.
With helm on head, like Mars, I'll lie
By thee, the Queen of Love,
And draw a net around us twain,
And smile on heaven above:
And every god that comes shall pour
His blessings on thy head,
And envious eyes be far away
From that dear marriage-bed!
THE GOBLET.
In my hands I held a brimming goblet,
Sculptured quaintly by the carver's cunning,
Quaffed with eager lips the strong nepenthe,
So at once to drown all care and anguish.
Then came Amor in and found me sitting,
And he smiled a smile of serious sweetness
As in pity of my foolish purpose.
"Friend, I know a vessel nobler, fairer,
Worthy all your soul in it to bury;
