Which opes at will a paradise on earth.
Like milk the bosom, and the neck of snow;
Round is the neck, and full and round the breast;
Where, fresh and firm, two ivory apples grow,
Which rise and fall, as, to the margin pressed
By pleasant breeze, the billows come and go.
Not prying Argus could discern the rest.
Yet might the observing eye of things concealed
Conjecture safely from the charms revealed.
To all her arms a just proportion bear,