Golden-throned, immortal Love,
Sung to by the girls of Greece,
From what islands hails the dove,
Crossing what foam-crested seas,

That my deepest dreams above,
And my lightest, without cease,
Or by day, where'er I move,
With faint wing-beats kills my ease?

Ah! forbear thy power to prove;
Well I know what wings are these.
Where but in the Paphian grove
Dwells the dove that brings not peace?