The golden pinions, which her feet adorn, In wanton flutterings by the winds are borne: Down from her head the long fair tresses flow, And sport with lovely negligence below: The waving ribbons, which her buskins tie, Her snowy skin with waving purple die; As crimson veils in palaces display’d, To the white marble lend a blushing shade. Nor long he gazed, yet while he gazed, she gain’d The goal, and the victorious wreath obtain’d. The vanquish’d sigh, and, as the law decreed, Pay the dire forfeit, and prepare to bleed.