I hasted to the roseate bowers
Where Pleasure dwells with Love.
There Youth, and Love, and Beauty, bound
The glowing rose my harp around;
Then to the daughter of Desire,
To bright-eyed Pleasure gave the lyre:
She tuned the string,
And smiling softer than the rosy sea,
When the young Morning blushes on her breast,
She raised the raptured lay,