Like the Idalian queen
Her hair about her eyne,
With neck and breasts' ripe apples to be seen,
At the first glance of the morn
In Cyprus gardens gathering those fair flowers
Which of her blood were born,
I saw, but fainting saw, my paramours,
the Graces naked danc'd about the place,
The winds and trees amaz'd
With silence on her gaz'd,
The flow'rs did smile, like those upon her face,
And as their aspen stalks those fingers band,
(That she might read my case)
A hyacinth I wish'd me in her hand.
William Drummond of Hawthornden
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