Page:The Statues in the Block and Other Poems (1881).djvu/62

56 To the innermost temple's room, to the couch, and the sacred loom Where she weaves her placid will, the goddess came, smiling still,
 * Unrobing for blissful rest.

[old,O lily of perfect mould, the world had grown young, not Had it bowed at thy milk-white feet with a love not of fire, but heat,—
 * Sweet lotus of soft repose !

Like the moon her body glows, like the sun-flushed Alpine snows ; Her arms 'neath her radiant head, she sleeps, and lo ! o'er her bed
 * The wicked Cupid leans.

Even he cannot fly the feast which nor vestal nor hoary priest Had ever enjoyed before. But, stealing her robe from the floor,
 * He dons it and is gone.