P A R T  I V  
 
FAIRER than woman, blushing at the kiss 
Of young keen Phoibos, whose lips’ nectar is 
More fresh than lilies, whose divine embrace 
Flushes the creamy pallor of her face, 
And, even in those depths of azure sea 
Where her eyes dwell, bids them glint amorously, 
While the intense hushed music of his breath 
Sighs, till her longing grows divine as death— 
So, fairer far, drew dawn on Ida’s grove. 
The young sun rose, whose burning lips of love 
Kissed the green steeps, whose beamy locks of 
flame 
Brushed o’er the dewy pastures, with acclaim 
Of tuneful thrushes shrill with mountain song, 
And noise of nightingales, and murmur long— 
A sigh half-sad, as if remembering earth 
And all the massy pillars of her girth ; 
Half-jubilant, as if foreseeing a world 
Fresher with starlight and with waters pearled,