Aphrodite, the truest goddess of beauty,
Banishes those who think love’s a duty;
Bans all the pitiful, bans all the weak,
Bans the Platonic, pretending to seek.
Only sincere ones, with earthly desires,
Coaxes she closer with lip-kindling fires.
Kisses, when made, she lays not on guilt;
No lash for embraces a-hug to the hilt;
But feelings that wander and never are sure—
She frowns upon them and cannot endure.
For admiration that springs from the mind,
And eyes that see truly, nor dart to be blind,
For judgment that glorys in all that is real,
She sings out the measures of lovers’ ideal:
“You are you, I am I,
A is A, we agree;
Every star in the sky
Is our strong certainty.
I won’t pass, you won’t go,
We are steady and bright;
And the triumph we know
Is our self-loving sight.
I am I, you are you,
Half apart, yet not twain;
Every day is brand new
In our joy without pain.
All the future awaits,
All our future is here!
And the date of all dates
Is our year after year!”
Aphrodite, truest goddess of love,
Ancient, yet modern, no god is above!