The Venus of Bolsover Castle

Stone Venus, fixed and still,
holding your raven hair,
who stood you naked there?
Who carved you, tracing down those lines
each lover thought his only care,
sure that your gold lay hid in mines?

But all your gilding is the sun
who paints you with his glorious light:
your clothes, the shadows, turn and run
till hidden treasures have you none.
If with your hair a sail you make
you'll float there naked on a golden lake.

Now, working with their webbed oars,
the swans ride near to where you float:
with steady wing a huge cloud soars
anchored in Heaven like a boat:
water and sky, above, below,
are cool and shining like a bed of snow.

Two apples tumbled from a bough
your breasts show, lying clear
and straight the swans begin to plough
till furrows do appear:
now with their beaks the fruit they try
and air, like glass, breaks with a cry.

Your legs like stems of flowers are seen
all naked from your ankles thin,
the leaves have fallen that were green
and foam lies where the flowers begin:
his plumes and white wings are no cover
and all the world can see your lover.

Gone is the cloud, the swans have flown,
waiting, you hold your raven hair,
your naked limbs by sun are shown
for human lover to climb the stair:
you stand above the fountain ledge
for all to see, without a hedge.

Know the cruel strategem to keep you safe!
Hair like a raven's wing and limbs cool white
are guarded from us, though they're still in sight.
Down pour the waters with a chilled flood
to damp all those who are not flaming quite,
while he who carved you burns with fiery blood.