Her lovely arms and taper fingers all:
Another, with her robe high round her neck,
Conceal'd her bosom, but a rent below
Show'd all her shapely thighs. The Graces smiled,
And love, not without hope, did lead me on.
Then on th' inviting asphodel they fell,
Plucking the dark leaves of the violet flower,
And crocus, which, with purple petals rising,
Copies the golden rays of the early sun.
There, too, the Persian sweetly-smelling marjoram