Classic Poem

I HATE the common muse: she lies
With languid limbs and yields her charms
Without one struggle, an easy prize
To any vulgar lover's arms.

For me the watchful ‘Strophe's’ beat
Of dancing foot in rhythmic choir!
I grasp her, as she spreads her fleet
Wings to escape, nor heed her ire.

So writhes on Haemus' snowy height
Some Eviad in a Faun's embrace,
Who finds her lovelier, as more tight
Her panting breast his arms enlace,

And on her burning lips his kiss
Smothers the shriek: in sunlight gleams
Her brow, that white as marble is,
While down the wind her long hair streams.