Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XVI.

[1]     Thou, whose soft and rosy hues     Mimic form and soul infuse,     Best of painters, come portray     The lovely maid that's far away.     Far away, my soul! thou art,     But I've thy beauties all by heart.     Paint her jetty ringlets playing,     Silky locks, like tendrils straying;[2]     And, if painting hath the skill     To make the spicy balm distil,     Let every little lock exhale     A sigh of perfume on the gale.     Where her tresses' curly flow     Darkles o'er the brow of snow,     Let her forehead beam to light,     Burnished as the ivory bright.     Let her eyebrows smoothly rise     In jetty arches o'er her eyes,     Each, a crescent gently gliding,     Just commingling, just dividing.     But, hast thou any sparkles warm,     The lightning of her eyes to form?     Let them effuse the azure rays,     That in Minerva's glances blaze,     Mixt with the liquid light that lies     In Cytherea's languid eyes.     O'er her nose and cheek be shed     Flushing white and softened red;     Mingling tints, as when there glows     In snowy milk the bashful rose.     Then her lip, so rich in blisses,     Sweet petitioner for kisses,     Rosy nest, where lurks Persuasion,     Mutely courting Love's invasion.     Next, beneath the velvet chin,     Whose dimple hides a Love within,     Mould her neck with grace descending,     In a heaven of beauty ending;     While countless charms, above, below,     Sport and flutter round its snow.     Now let a floating, lucid veil,     Shadow her form, but not conceal;[3]     A charm may peep, a hue may beam     And leave the rest to Fancy's dream.     Enough--'tis she! 'tis all I seek;     It glows, it lives, it soon will speak!