He for God only, she for God in him:
His fair large front and eye sublime declared
Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks
Round from his parted forelock manly hung
Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad;
She as a veil down to the slender waist
Her unadorned golden tresses wore
Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved
As the vine curls her tendrils, which implied
Subjection, but required with gentle sway,
And by her yielded, by him best received,
Yielded with coy submission, modest pride,
And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.
So passed they naked on, nor shunned the sight
Of God, or angel, for they thought no ill:
So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair
That ever since in love's embraces met,
Adam the goodliest man of men since born
His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve.
Under a tuft of shade that on a green
Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain side
They sat them down, and after no more toil
Of their sweet gardening labour than sufficed
To recommend cool Zephyr, and made ease
More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite
More grateful, to their supper fruits they fell;
Nectarine fruits which the compliant boughs
Yielded them, side-long as they sat recline
On the soft downy bank damasked with flowers.
Who had her very being and her name
With the first knots or buddings of the spring,
Born with the primrose, or the violet,
Here she was wont to go! and here! and here!
Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow:
The world may find the spring by following her,
For other print her airy steps ne'er left.
Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk!
But like the soft west wind she shot along,
And where she went the flowers took thickest root,
As she had sowed them with her odorous foot.
EFTSOON there steppèd forth
A goodly lady clad in hunter's weed,
That seemed to be a woman of great worth,
And by her stately portance born of heavenly birth.
Her face so fair as flesh it seemed not,
But heavenly portrait of bright angel's hue,
Clear as the sky, withouten blame or blot,
Through goodly mixture of complexions due;
And in her cheeks the vermeil red did shew
Like roses in a bed of lilies shed,
The which ambrosial odours from them threw,
And gazer's sense with double pleasure fed,
Able to heal the sick, and to revive the dead.
In her fair eyes two living lamps did flame,
Kindled above at th' heavenly Maker's light,
And darted fiery beams out of the same
So passing perceant and so wondrous bright,
That quite bereaved the rash beholder's sight:
In them the blinded god his lustful fire
To kindle oft assayed, but had no might;
For with dread majesty, and awful ire,
She broke his wanton darts, and quenched base desire.
Her ivory forehead, full of bounty brave, Like a broad table did itself disspread, For love his lofty triumphs to engrave, And write the battles of his great godhead; All good and honour might therein be read, For there their dwelling was; and when she spake, Sweet words, like dropping honey, she did shed, And twixt the pearls and rubies softly brake A silver sound, that heavenly music seemed to make.
Upon her eyelids many Graces sate,
Under the shadow of her even brows
Working bellegardes and amorous rétraite,
And every one her with a grace endows,
And every one with meekness to her bows:
So glorious mirror of celestial grace,
And sovereign monument of mortal vows,
How shall frail pen describe her heavenly face,
For fear, through want of skill, her beauty to disgrace?
So fair, and thousand thousand times more fair,
She seemed, when she presented was to sight,
And was yclad, for heat of scorching air,
All in a silken camus lily white,
Purfled upon with many a folded plite,
Which all above besprinkled was throughout
With golden aigulets that glistered bright,
Like twinkling stars, and all the skirt about
Was hemmed with golden fringe.
And in her hand a sharp bow spear she held,
And at her back a bow and quiver gay,
Stuffed with steel-headed darts, wherewith she quelled
The savage beasts in her victorious play,
Knit with a golden baldrick, which forelay
Athwart her snowy breast, and did divide
Her dainty paps; which like young fruit in May
Now little 'gan to swell, and being tied,
Through her thin weed their places only signified.
Her yellow locks crispèd like golden wire,
About her shoulders weren loosely shed,
And when the wind amongst them did enspire,
They waved like a pennon wide disspread,
And low behind her back were scattered;
And whether art it were or heedless hap,
As through the flowering forest rash she fled,
In her rude hairs sweet flowers themselves did lap, And flourishing fresh leaves and blossoms did enwrap.
FIRST-BORN of Chaos, who so fair didst come
From the old Negro's darksome womb!
Which, when it saw the lovely child,
The melancholy mass put on kind looks and smiled.
Thou tide of glory, which no rest dost know,
But ever ebb and ever flow!
Thou golden shower of a true Jove!
Who does in thee descend, and heaven to earth make love!
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