How could I not be grateful
to her, the Lady Maple who
with branches windowed silver
framed her lover the moon, in
distant light and darkened leaf
became wild thoughts of you–
Or to the stars, just later, a Wheel,
just before eyes looked downward,
saw forlorn flower and concrete shore
while all this time your presence
breathed from light to love
across vast oceans and air?
If you’ll not die Antinous
I’ll tear down emperors’ walls, but still
with monuments of words, build poems
to gods whose shifting faces
look often now
like yours.
Rhyd Wildermuth 
Mmm-hmm! I like! (Not surprisingly!)
kinda thought you might. 🙂
as did I.
Beautiful craftsmanship here and perfectly suited to Antinous 🙂
I love the way you set the scenes in your verse.
You haven’t read much Sara Teasdale, have you?
The beautiful god gets around. 🙂