Like as the rising morn shews a grateful lightening,
When sacred night is past; and Winter now lets loose the Spring:
So glittering Helen shined among her Maids, lusty and tall.
As is the furrow in a field that far outstretcheth all;
Or in a garden is a cypress tree; or in a trace,
A steed of Thessaly; so She to Sparta was a grace.
No damsel with such works as She, her baskets used to fill;
Nor in a divers coloured web, a woof of greater skill
Doth cut off from the loom; nor any hath such Songs and Lays
Unto her dainty harp, in Dian's and Minerva's praise,