Hath Pheidias' chisel graved that lovely form?
Nay, Pallas' art hath wrought it; she alone
Could make the soulless marble speak and warm
With all the grace of life the cold white stone.
And, see, a gentler hand than Venus' own
Toys with a cestus — Cupid brought it her;
Let Juno, yea, or Venus, beg that zone
To lure the War God or the Thunderer.