Standing resplendent in a baroque topiary, Under a florid arbour as an arched canopy, Her pulchritude in moonlight, is the plenary Picture of, the muse, the Goddess Calliope.
My heartβs reminiscence of our first encounter, Like a fragrance in my mind wafts around, Whose Pareidolia in every-thing sketches her Face, to which it is entirely spellbound.
Were the Fates to keep us apart, As the sculptor Pygmalion I would be. But Aphrodite wonβt breathe life into my art, For not my Galatea, I love my Calliope.