On every rose-bud that around him blowed,
A thousand nectared kisses she bestowed;
And straight each opening bud, which late was white,
Blushed a warm crimson to the astonished sight.
Still in Dione’s breast soft wishes rise,
Soft wishes, vented with soft-whispered sighs.
Thus, by her lips unnumbered roses pressed,
Kisses, unfolding in sweet bloom, confessed;
And, flushed with rapture at each new-born kiss,
She felt her swelling soul o’erwhelmed in bliss.