LXVI.
The stripling heats his golden arrow’s head
At her bright eyes, then slacks the weapon’s glow
In streams, which fall between white flowers and red;
And, the shaft tempered, strongly draws his bow,
And roves at him, o’er whom no shield is spread,
Nor iron rind, nor double mail below;
Who, gazing on her tresses, eyes, and brow,
Feels that his heart is pierced, he knows not how.
LXVII.
Olympia’s beauties are of those most rare,
Nor is the forehead’s beauteous curve alone
Excellent, and her eyes and cheeks and hair
Mouth, nose, and throat, and shoulders; but, so down
Descending from the lady’s bosom fair,
Parts which are wont to be concealed by gown,
Are such, as haply should be placed before
Whate’er this ample world contains in store.
LXVIII.
In whiteness they surpassed unsullied snow,
Smooth ivory to the touch: above were seen
Two rounding paps, like new-pressed milk in show,
Fresh-taken from its crate of rushes green[14];
The space betwixt was like the valley low,
Which oftentimes we see small hills between,
Sweet in its season; and now such as when
Winter with snows has newly filled the glen.
