You, Terpsichore :-)

"How light the strain when, decked in vernal bloom,
Thalia tuned her lyre of melody,
And when Terpsichore, with iris-plume,
Bade o'er her lute her rosy fingers fly;
'T was pleasure all--the fawns in mingled choirs,
Glanced on the willing nymphs their wanton fires,
Joy shook his glittering pinions as he flew;
The shout of rapture and the song of bliss,
The sportive titter and the melting kiss,
All blended with the smile, that shone like early dew."

from An Ode To Music, by James G. Percival