MISCELLANEOUS

Not that Queen Venus of adulterous fame,

Whose love was lust's insatiable flame —

Not hers the house I would be singer in

Whose loose-lipped servants seek a weary sin:

But mine the Venus of that morning flood

With all the dawn's young passion in her blood,

With great blue eyes and unpressed bosom sweet.

Her would I sing, and of the shy retreat

Where Love first kissed her wondering maidenhood,

And He and She first stood, with eyes afraid,

In the most golden House that God has made.