'Twas thus to Athens my heart drew at last
My life, my soul, myself. Ah, well, I learn
To love and loathe the bonds that hold me fast,
Your captive and your conquerer in turn;
Am I not shamed to match my charms with those
Of fair boy-beauties? gentled for your love
To match the freshness of the morning rose,
And lisp in murmurs like the cooing dove.
O, men of Athens! by the purple sea
In far Miletus, when I dreamed of you,