Antique

 

 

Gracious son of Pan! Around your forehead crowned with flowerets and with

laurel, restlessly roll those precious balls, your eyes. Spotted with

brown lees, your cheeks are hollow. Your fangs gleam. Your breast is like

a lyre, tinklings circulate through your pale arms. Your heart beats in

that belly where sleeps the double sex. Walk through the night, gently

moving that thigh, that second thigh, and that left leg.