Classic Poem

The Phrygian youth, delight of the other Jove,
Had seen our Emperor's darling from above
With hair new-shorn, and cried, " Great ruler, now
Grant me what Caesar doth his boy allow.
Down's on my cheeks concealed beneath these locks,
And Juno calls me man and jeers and mocks."
To him — " My sweetest boy," the Sire replied,
" Your wish by facts and not by me is denied.
Our Caesar has a thousand boys like thee;
His palace scarce can hold their company.
But if shorn hair should give thee a man's face,
I should have no one left my board to grace.