I have oft heard My mother Circe with the Sirens three, Amidst the flowery-Kirtled Naiades, Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs, 255 Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul, And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept, And chid her barking waves into attention, And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause.
"Minor Poems by Milton"
John Milton
These attracted me violently, and here for the first time I gazed on Apollo with his proud gesture, Venus in her undulations, the Kirtled shape of Diana, and Jupiter voluminously bearded.
"Father and Son"
Edmund Gosse