Now silence falls, Muses,
Between Hyacintos and Apollo,
As they stroll in the basking sun.
No words are spoken, for speech is not needed,
When they feel their lives as one.
Nothing disturbs the lovers’ walk,
Not noise nor sorrow –
The time for fearful weeping is done.
But the wind blows no longer,
O’er the lotus-capp’d pools –
The tragedy has barely begun.
Ah, Morpheus, the peace of sleep.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic.