On a tripod the goddess sits, gazing
At herself in a mirror propped close:
Red-gold tresses, a perfect Greek nose,
Sea-green eyes like twin emeralds blazing.

Pink her cheeks are and powdered her face.
Like two drops of celestial nectar,
In the bronze disc their sparkle reflected,
Playful earrings her loveliness grace.

Says Ulysses: 'O Circe, believe me,
You are splendid! That stray lock of hair,
That while hand, that smooth elbow, that fair,
Gracious neckline - enchanted they leave me! '

Circe smiles: 'As a matter of fact,
Ifs my shoulders I'm proud of, and also
Of the orangy down that runs oh, so
Lightly, airily straight down my back! '

Ivan Bunin

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/circe-7/