1961171She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,

1172Comparing it to her Adonis' breath,

1173And says within her bosom it shall dwell,

1174Since he himself is reft from her by death.

1175 She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears

1176 Green-dropping sap, which she compares to tears.

1971177"Poor flower," quoth she, "this was thy father's guise,

1178Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,

1179For every little grief to wet his eyes;

1180To grow unto himself was his desire;

1181 And so 'tis thine; but know it is as good

1182 To wither in my breast as in his blood.

1981183"Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;

1184Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right.

1185Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest;

1186My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night.

1187 There shall not be one minute in an hour

1188 Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower."

1991189Thus weary of the world, away she hies

1190And yokes her silver doves, by whose swift aide,

1191Their mistress mounted through the empty skies

1192In her light chariot, quickly is conveyed,

1193 Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen

1194 Means to immure herself and not be seen.