Priapus
Keeper–of–Orchards
I saw the first pear
As it fell.
The honey–seeking, golden-banded,
The yellow swarm
Was not more fleet than I,
(Spare us from loveliness!)
And I fell prostrate,
Crying,
Though hast flayed us with thy blossoms;
Spare us the beauty
Of fruit–trees!
The honey–seeking
Paused not,
The air thundered their song,
And I alone was prostrate.
O rough–hewn
God of the orchard,
I bring thee an offering;
Do thou, alone unbeautiful
(Son of the god),
Spare us from loveliness.
The fallen hazel–nuts,
Stripped late of their green sheaths,
The grapes, red–purple,
Their berries
Dripping with wine,
Pomegranates already broken,
And shrunken fig,
And quinces untouched,
I bring thee as offering.