HADRIAN
I speak on him, Antinous, as tho’
With his heart thou wert as knitted as I;
In its pace as constant; for his voice,
As attuned, trained, responsive and pining.
Yet to thine ears, he’s mute like a stone;
Taciturn as a wedge of white marble
Marked by ready eyes to be hewn to a
Suitable icon; a solemn contour
That, in Saturn’s hoary, unkempt bramble
Shall ever stand his face to shadows bowed;
From sunlight’s blazing impulse, hope’s lantern,
And even the dream of fireflies cosseted;
By fleet glimpses through life’s copse set to be
Idealized, idolized, deified
Past all semblance of that bursting, florid,
Fulsome boy who mesmerized my being...
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