Love Song To Ganymede

The flush of his skin, red rose on white,
And the copper-gold of the eagle in flight
As it bore him away
Beyond the edge of day
Have both filled me with wine-like delight.

But it is Ganymede the mortal I love,
Not the god Zeus who dwells above,
Who many lovers
With his form covers.
It is mortal beauty I covet, know of.

Ganymede, sweet one, will you be mine?
Your hands were not made to carry wine
For the gods' king.
You were not made to sing
For his pleasure; you are far too fine.

If you were mine, you would carry the cup
Of our love; from one plate we would sup.
And at night in bed,
Only stars overhead
To watch us with silver eyes as we tup,

I would show you the delight of the mortal.
My love, because we pass the portal
Of death so soon,
And wane like the moon-
Because we, unlike the gods, are not immortal-

Our love is the more passionate, more fiercely sweet.
We would make love like fury as the hours fleet,
And then after
In gentle laughter
Rejoice as we lay in a tangle of arms and of feet.