The Birth of Pleasure

At the creation of the Earth Pleasure, that divinest birth, From the soil of Heaven did rise, Wrapped in sweet wild melodies-- Like an exhalation wreathing To the sound of air low-breathing Through Aeolian pines, which make A shade and shelter to the lake Whence it rises soft and slow; Her life-breathing did flow In the harmony divine Of an ever-lengthening line Which enwrapped her perfect form With a beauty clear and warm.