Complexion like the winter snow,
Just tinted by the sunset glow,
Throat white as alabaster,
Teeth of pearl, and hair of gold,
And figure--sure in Venus's mould
Th' immortal gods have east her.
And I am proud her slave to be,
And deem it high felicity
To die, if she should will it so.
Ye fates! to-night propitious be,
For I approach divinity:
My life depends on "Yes" or "No."