Where the flickering rim of hill is highest, At a point of maximum illumined green of grass Patched with melting dews that sparkle at noon, She stands garmented in white garland, The sky’s steep blue above her and behind. In the valley below, asong with flute and lyre, Adonis lets short youth retire And climbs to make his world her sire. To engulf her with his love’s desire Is his only wish. Never can he tire. But, Fair Venus, look, see the grey clouds yonder, Fair Venus, look, a change of season’s In the offing. Another will come and like you stand Where you now await your love, And she like you will learn that love’s time’s sand. (Fête Galante)