To Sylvia

Were I on the Latin lay, Were I turning Odes to-day, You would draw a gem from me, Little maid of mystery!

In an Ode I'd love to spout you; I am simply bug about you. That's the way!--the fairest peach Is the one that's out of reach.

I have toasted in my time Many a peach (and many a lime), All of them, I must confess, Lacking your elusiveness.

Lalage, my well known flame, Was considerable dame; Likewise Lydia and Phyllis, Chloë, Pyrrha, Amaryllis.

Syl, if you had lived when they did You'd have had those damsels faded. (That will give you, girl, some notion Of your Flaccus's devotion.)

Yep. If I were doing Odes In my quondam favorite modes, With your image to qui-vive me I'd tear off some Ode, believe me!