Quote by John Donne

“His body was as straight as Circe's wand; Jove might have spit out nectar from his hand. Even as delicious meat is to taste, So was his neck in touching, and surpast The white of Pelop's shoulder: I could tell ye, How smooth his breast was, and how white his belly, And whose immortal fingers did imprint That heavenly path with many a curious dint, That runs along his back; but my rude pen Can hardly blazen forth the loves of men, Much less of powerful Gods: let it suffice That my slack muse sings of Leander's eyes, Those Orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his That lept into the water for a kiss Of his own shadow, and despising many, Died ere he could enjoy the love of any.”