Nike of Samothrace
Alighting on some warshipŽÃŽÔ prow, her wings
Swept back, commanding waves and wind, her strength
Proclaimed in marble mass, where drapery clings
Suggesting motion, action, down the length
Of thighs and powerful legs, airy wisp
Of cloud across her stomach, and the cord
Beneath her breasts binding wings to slight twist
Of waist, express what graceful spirit soared...
Her head now gone, or rather lost in light
Above long sculptured shadows, she lifts wise
Immortal wings, no reason but delight,
Pure eros gazing with abandoned eyes...
VictorsŽÃ¡Èoddess, ravished, ecstatic, flies
From slacking sails, possessed by her own flight.