Ancora

Good God! They say you are risqué, O canzonetti! We who went out into the four A. M. of the world Composing our albas, We who shook off our dew with the rabbits, We who have seen even Artemis a-binding her sandals, Have we ever heard the like? O mountains of Hellas!! Gather about me, O Muses! When we sat upon the granite brink in Helicon Clothed in the tattered sunlight, Muses with delicate shins, O Muses with delectable knee-joints, When we splashed and were splashed with The lucid Castalian spray, Had we ever such an epithet cast upon us!!