To Apollo the Splendour-god, unto Anaphê’s Warder-king. {1730}
But when thence they had loosed the hawsers, when summer-winds blew light,
Then did Euphêmus call to remembrance a dream of the night,
In his awe of the glorious son of Maia. For lo, him thought
That the god-given clod in his palm close unto his breast he had caught.
And therefrom like a suckling babe white streams of milk it drew,
Till the clod, for all that so little it were, to a woman grew
Like to a virgin. In love’s embrace, by desire overborne,
Did he lie with the damsel: yet even as a maiden for ruth did he mourn
To have humbled her whom the very milk of his breast had fed.