Classic Poem

Then did Dame Venus tuck her skirts up high
And like an angry woman seize her bow
And cock the shaft, well fitted at the notch,
Drawing the bowstring backward to her ear
(The arrow was not more than fathom long!)
And like a skillful archeress take aim,
Pointing it at a loophole in the tower
That Nature had with cunning workmanship
Seated between two columns, visible
In front, indeed, but not on either side.
These columns were of finest ivory,
Supporting piously a sort of shrine —
A maiden form of silver, not too short
Nor yet too tall; not fat, nor yet too thin;
But perfect in proportions generally —
In shoulders, arms, and hands. All other parts
Were fairly sculptured. There was seen within
A sanctuary covered with a shroud
Nobler and more precious and more fair
Than could be found from here to Istanbul.
A pomander perfume the place exhaled.
If one should reasonably strive to think
Of fit comparison, he'd find as like
As lion to a mouse that sculpturing
Compared with that one old Pygmalion once made.