The god of the silver bow
To thee I mutely take my vow
That the gift of art you bestow
Would be used with much ado’.

The music from thy lyre
Stirs the flame of the budding fire
Sweet melodies the hands create
Surpass the twilight stars dare coruscate.

The arrow of passion strikes my heart
Filled by beauty and beatitude the sun god imparts
Oh, Phoebus, the Shining Apollo
Daze me not with thy grandeur all aglow.

My artist’s eyes follow the lurching sun
As it fleets away from the orbs of man
When night springs and stars fall in a shower
Apollo cedes my wish and turns me into a flower


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