'Twas a dispute 'twixt heaven and earth Which had produced the nobler birth. For heaven appeared Cynthia, with all her train, Till you came forth, More glorious and more worth Than she with all those trembling imps of light With which this envious queen of night Had proudly decked her conquered self in vain. I must have perished in that first surprise, Had I beheld your eyes. Love, like Apollo when he would inspire Some holy breast, laid all his glories by; Else the god, clothed in his heavenly fire, Would have possessed too powerfully, And making of his priest a sacrifice, Had so returned unhallowed to the skies. |