4. Real Life
Ye folk, who read of Oedipus and Scylla and Medea
And King Thyestes in the dark, you'll find no wonders here.
What good to us are boys who lived in ages long by gone.
Parthenopaeus, Attis, and the drowsed Endymion,
Or ravished Hylas, or the lad who lost his pinions white,
Or he who hates the amorous stream, the young Hermaphrodite.
In silly fables such as these the foolish may delight,
But of this volume Life will say—‘'Tis mine’—and she'll be right.
No Centaurs here nor Gorgons nor fierce Harpies you will see;
My pages have the savour of our own humanity;
‘To read about myself,’ you say, ‘is scarcely worth my while.
Then turn to old Callimachus: you'll find him just your style.
And King Thyestes in the dark, you'll find no wonders here.
What good to us are boys who lived in ages long by gone.
Parthenopaeus, Attis, and the drowsed Endymion,
Or ravished Hylas, or the lad who lost his pinions white,
Or he who hates the amorous stream, the young Hermaphrodite.
In silly fables such as these the foolish may delight,
But of this volume Life will say—‘'Tis mine’—and she'll be right.
No Centaurs here nor Gorgons nor fierce Harpies you will see;
My pages have the savour of our own humanity;
‘To read about myself,’ you say, ‘is scarcely worth my while.
Then turn to old Callimachus: you'll find him just your style.
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