KISS XV.
The Idalian boy, to pierce Neæra’s heart,
Had bent his bow, had chose the fatal dart;
But when the child, in wonder lost, surveyed
That brow, o’er which your sunny tresses played,
Those cheeks, that blushed the rose’s warmest dye,
That streamy languish of your lucid eye,
That bosom, too, with matchless beauty bright
(Scarce Cypria’s own could boast so pure a white),
Though mischief urged him first to wound my fair,