In one consummate form thine eye shall trace,
Model of loveliness, for earth too fair!
Then thou shalt own how faint my votive lays,
My spirit dazzled by perfection’s blaze:
But if thou still delay, for long regret prepare.
“Se lamentar augelli, o verdi fronde.”
If to the sighing breeze of summer hours
Bend the green leaves; if mourns a plaintive bird;
Or from some fount’s cool margin, fringed with flowers,
The soothing murmur of the wave is heard;