Classic Poem

The goddesse that in Amathus doth raigne,
With siluer tramells, and saphire-colour'd eyes,
When naked from her mother's christall plaine
She first appear'd vnto the wondring skies,
Or when, the golden apple to obtaine,
Her blushing snowes amazed Ida's trees,
Did neuer looke in halfe so faire a guise
As shee heere drawne, all other ages staine.
O God, what beauties to inflame the soule,
And hold the wildest hearts in chaines of gold!
Faire lockes, sweet face, loue's stately capitole,
Deare necke, which dost that heauenly frame vp-hold:
If vertue would to mortall eyes appeare
To rauish sense, shee would your beautie weare.