Seeks with spread hands the bosom's velvet orbs.
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With closing lips the milky fount absorbs;
And, as compress'd the dulcet streams distil,
Drinks warmth and fragrance from the living rill;—
Eyes with mute rapture every waving line,
Prints with adoring kiss the Paphian shrine,
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And learns erelong, the perfect form confess'd,
Ideal Beauty from its mother's breast.