Cythera

A summer-house’s lattices

Tenderly hide our caresses,

Joy the rose-tree cools, sweet friend:

Scents of the rose, languidly,

Thanks to the passing summer breeze,

With her own fragrance blend:

As the promise her eyes gave,

Her courage is complete, while her

Lips yield exquisite fever:

And Love having sated all things save

Appetite: jams and sorbets here

Keep from us the ache of hunger.

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