Archimedes

O lover of fates were the fates to love would maiden hold loft your bonzéd hair or mother gaze at roots and watered iris fair? In longing passion whence crone became, that jealous fire which yields one insane, were Alexandria to hold all jewéled and beguiled tomes still not enough to behold such lovers' hands as these caress. Her bosom sold in unrest, aflame she sets her eyes to his every move and his every whim becomes her desire. Could Eros have borne with such wings as these that hold Archimedes in her heart thieved.