XIII. She endeavours to fascinate him

Bring, bring to deck my brow, ye Sylvan girls, A roseate wreath; nor for my waving hair The costly band of studded gems prepare, Of sparkling crysolite or orient pearls: Love, o’er my head his canopy unfurls, His purple pinions fan the whisp’ring air; Mocking the golden sandal, rich and rare, Beneath my feet the fragrant woodbine curls. Bring the thin robe, to fold about my breast, White as the downy swan; while round my waist Let leaves of glossy myrtle bind the vest, Not idly gay, but elegantly chaste! Love scorns the nymph in wanton trappings drest; And charms the most concealed, are doubly grac’d.