And when she woke ’twas with the morning sound
Of Aphrodite’s anger at the door,
Whom high amaze stay’d backward, as she found
Her foe asleep with all her trouble o’er:
And round the room beheld, in order due,
The piles arranged distinct and sorted true,
Grain with grain, seed with seed, and spore with spore.
7
She fiercely cried ‘Thou shalt not thus escape;
For to this marvel dar’st thou not pretend.