So close and smooth are laid the few fine locks
Colored like honey oozed from topmost rocks
Sun-blanched the livelong summer'—if they heard
Just those two rhymes, assented at my word,
And loved them as I love them who have run
These fingers through those pale locks, let the sun
Into the white cool skin—who first could clutch,
Then praise—I needs must be a god to such.
Or what if some, above themselves, and yet
How had he been superior to Eglamor?