Classic Poem

Lydia, fickle and fair,
Lyce, the faded of hue,
Lalage, Pholoi...there!
Hark how the l's ripple through.
These were the beauties that drew,
These lilting and lyrical dames!
Leuconoi, Glycera ... Pooh!
Why, Horace, they're nothing but names!

Pyrrha, the golden of hair,
Lyde the lyrist, the shrew
Myrtale ... well, I declare!
What in the world shall we do
If critics abolish the crew,
Their gallants and gaddings and games?
Barine, Lycoris, adieu!
Alas, ye are nothing but names!

All were but syllabled air,
Fancies that flickered and flew;
Innocent Phidyle's prayer,
Chloi the fawn, and the few
Years that your Cinara knew,
Cinara, sweetest of flames!
Ah, Horace, I'm sorry for you!
Alas! they were nothing but names!

ENVOI

Ladies! ye shrink from this view;
But soon all your loves and your fames,
Fun, frailties, frolics, — ye too,
Alas! will be nothing but names!