Judge as we are

In the realm where hearts are veiled from view, We're beguiled by surface, all gold and hue. Yet amidst this dazzle, where can we find, The object of passion, to capture the mind? In Greek myth's lore, by Robert Graves spun, On Mount Gargarus, 'neath the midday sun. Hermes, Hera, Athena, Aphrodite's call, Zeus's golden apple, the fairest of all. "Judge us as we are," Paris sought to know, "Or should you strip to bare, to bare truth show?" With sly smile, Hermes left it to his whim, "Disrobe, if you must," he said on a whim. Aphrodite, radiant, Athena, wise and bold, Hera, regal, their forms to behold. But beyond their beauty, what lay beneath? Paris, the arbiter, deciding their wreath. "Oh Paris, fairest of men," Aphrodite's plea, "Choose me, and all of Greece you'll see. With Helen by your side, in Sparta's embrace, Love and victory, all in one place." Yet deeper still, beneath this grand display, Lies a coquette's charm, a subtle array. Like the siren's song, her allure draws near, Capturing hearts, whispering secrets dear. In the temple's hush, where statues reside, Men sought solace, in Venus's guise they'd confide. The coquette's power, in beauty enshrined, Drawing desire from the depths of the mind.