A pyx of dark obsidian’s rarest green,
Wherein she gazeth on her features fair.
She is not hence by now six miles at most.’
Then Eros bade him speed, and down the coast
Held on his passage through the buoyant air.
5
With eager eye he search’d the salty marge
Boding all mischief from his mother’s glee;
And wondering of her wiles, and what the charge
Shut in the dark obsidian pyx might be.