And like the colour of the virgin gold,
Such as th' Ionian nymphs to Ion gave,
When in the meadows of the holy Pisa
They met and loved and crown'd the modest youth.
For he had cheer'd his hounds and slain the boar,
And in the clear Alpheus bathed his limbs,
Before he visited those friendly nymphs.
Cut then the shoots from off the thorny rose,
And plant them in the trenches, leaving space
Between, two spans in width. The poets tell