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67
SONNET III.
Her form was like a Grace of Parian marble;Her step was stately like the walk of Dian;
Her song excelled the Thracian nightbird's warble;
She woke the lyre's enchantment like Amphion,
Or him whose music tamed the pard and lion;
Her eye was bright as the divinest star
That sparkles on the sword of stern Orion,
But like Aurora's when her summer car
Bore that beloved one to the floating isle,
It lit with orient warmth her conscious smile.
Should she not have some crystal dome in air,
Where earth might worship her, yet not defile?
Beauty! behold the palace of the Fair—
She feasts the worms in you sepulchral pile.
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