One narrow-shouldered, would-be satyr
Needs your love tonight.
No longer does he leap among the reeds.
His pipes ake now more pains to carve;
His plaintive voice is seldom heard at all.
Young vines impede his progress,
Rushes lash.
Tumescent roots upset his unsure steps
As Spring strides boldly by.
And the pool wherein he used to gaze to find
Among the floating flowers his youthful face
Reflects a wizened shadow, seeking love,
Or grace,
Or a lyric voice to beckon, Lethe-light
To touch him home again.
