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 forefend 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.
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