ANTISONNET:

THAMYRIS TO HYACINTH

Old poets wrote love as a naked boy Flown pretty, fresh, and lusty to his sport,

A glance of promise in his eyes to court Desire in him who was to be his toy.

The man aroused, the naked youth turned coy And, folding wings to hide his form, cut short The man's advances with the sharp retort

That love's too god to be a mortal's joy.

I'll not have that. I'll write love as a youth

Full naked, pretty, lusty in my sight,

But when his eyes show promise, they'll show truth. He'll have no wings; he'll have no wish for flight,

And they would be a nuisance and uncouth When he gives up himself to my delight.

T. L. Pebworth

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