Classic Poem

The leaves of all the forests,
If thou art skilled to reckon;
If thou canst tell the billows
Of all the seas together;
Of the loves then of my bosom,
I'll make thee sole accountant.
And first of all from Athens,
Of loves put down a twenty,
And then add fifteen others;
And let forsooth from Corinth,
A swarm of loves be added;
For, troth, does not Achaia
Abound with beauteous women?
Then put me down the Lesbians,
And further the Ionians,
And those from Rhodes and Karia,
Of loves, in all two thousand.
What say'st? Go on inscribing.
Untold my Syrian passions,
And those too of Kanobos;
And those of Krete, possessing
All things, within whose cities
Doth Eros hold his orgies.
Expect not I should reckon,
Of all my loves the number,
On the other side of Gades;
The Bactrians and the Indians.