The joy of pleasant places
Where Saturn still doth reign
Is in her gentle face’s
Calm ignorance of pain.
The bliss of ages golden
In her slim hand is holden,
By old gods she was molden
Before the world knew stain.
Her body is an altar
Wherein is Love enshrined.
Before her worldlings falter
And cruel eyes grow kind.
Her breath is breath of roses
From mystic garden-closes,
The troubled it composes
Like nectar-laden wine.