Eros is the god of love;
He and I are hand-in-glove.
All the gentle, gracious Muses
Follow Eros where he leads,
And they bless the bard who chooses
To proclaim love’s famous deeds;
Him they serve in rapturous glee, —
That is why they’re good to me.
Sometimes I have gone astray
From love’s sunny, flowery way;
How I floundered, how I stuttered!
And, deprived of ways and means,
What egregious rot I uttered, —
Such as suits the magazines!
I was rescued only when
Eros called me back again.
Gods forfend that I should shun
That benignant Mother’s son!
Why, the poet who refuses
To emblazon love’s delights
Gets the mitten from the Muses, —
Then what balderdash he writes!
I love Love; which being so,
See how smooth my verses flow!
Gentle Eros, lead the way, —
I will follow while I may;
Be thy path by hill or hollow,
I will follow fast and free;
And when I’m too old to follow,
I will sit and sing of thee, —
Potent still in intellect,
Sit, and sing, and retrospect.