So Muses, I have sung of Hyacintos,
The boy beloved by gods,
Of how he loved and felt their lips,
And touched their perfect fingertips.
Of how he rose, and how he fell,
By the hand of one who loved him well,
I’ve sung his song, his fate I did tell,
But I too, alas, have fallen for his spell.
I know not how to end this song,
Now Hyacintos is deceased,
How to mark his tragic end,
How to let him meet with peace,
But to say that Apollo and Zephyr
Eternally did pine,
And thus, with the tears of the gods,
We close these sorrowful lines.
It is finished.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic