Mutely voluptuous, standing by my bed,
Redolent of Eve! Scented like fragrant morn!
Those rounded breasts like snowy apple fruit
Culled from pomegranate tree with leaves of tourmaline
Not even Heaven could stand contented mute
If He beheld those arms so serpentine
Those humid lips, like plum blooms when the sun is warm,
Nude to the waist, there kirtled round
With Zone of silver, prank’d with palest grey,
Like misty fleeces which at dawn are found