Whene'er I revell'd in the Women's Bow'rs;
(For first I sought Her but at looser Hours:)
The Apples She had gather'd smelt most sweet:
The Cake She kneaded was the sav'ry Meat:
But Fruits their Odor lost, and Meats their Taste;
If gentle  had not deck'd the Feast.
Dishonor'd did the sparkling Goblet stand,
Unless receiv'd from gentle  Hand:
And when the Virgins form'd the Evening Choir,
Raising their Voices to the Master-Lyre;
Too flat I thought This Voice, and That too shrill;
One show'd too much, and one too little Skill:
Nor could my Soul approve the Music's Tone;
'Till all was hush'd, and  Sung alone.
Fairer She seem'd, distinguish'd from the rest;
And better Mein disclos'd, as better drest.
A bright  round her Forehead ty'd,
To juster Bounds confin'd it's rising Pride:
The blushing Ruby on her snowy Breast,
Render'd it's panting Whiteness more confess'd:
Bracelets of Pearl gave Roundness to her Arm;
And ev'ry Gem augmented ev'ry Charm.
Her Senses pleas'd, her Beauty still improv'd;
And She more lovely grew, as more belov'd.