The Birth of Pleasure
At the creation of the EarthPleasure, that divinest birth,From the soil of Heaven did rise,Wrapped in sweet wild melodies--Like an exhalation wreathingTo the sound of air low-breathingThrough Aeolian pines, which makeA shade and shelter to the lakeWhence it rises soft and slow;Her life-breathing did flowIn the harmony divineOf an ever-lengthening lineWhich enwrapped her perfect formWith a beauty clear and warm.
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