A satin vest his slender shape confin'd,
Embroider'd o'er with flow'rs of ev'ry kind,
Flora's own work, when first the goddess strove
To win the little wanderer to her love.
Of burnish'd silver were his sandals made,
Silver his buskins, and with gems o'erlaid;
A saffron-colour'd robe behind him flow'd,
And added grace and grandeur as he trod.
His wings than lillies whiter to behold,
Sprinkled with azure spots, and streak'd with gold;
So thin their form, and of so light a kind,
That they for ever danc'd, and flutter'd in the wind.
Around his temples with becoming air,
In wanton ringlets curl'd his auburn hair,
And o'er his shoulders negligently spread;
A wreath of fragrant roses crown'd his head.