A breath of air, and then a sigh,
White blossoms falling down from high.
So lazily about they sway,
So silently around they play,
And downward falling, falling slow,
Some touching petals precious oh,
And so on lips they land so sweet
On arms and hands and naked feet,
On chest and shoulders, shirtless, free,
On top of head for all to see—
And still, Apollo’s forehead shines,
And both his eyes are Valentines
For thinking, living men who sing
That love-of-life is everything!

Across the way Athena stands,
All naked, but for snow-filled hands,
As if the winter she does give
To men made strong through storms to live.
And who will love her beauty rare,
And who will kiss her fingers fair?
And who will fill his soul with pride
In tasting snow that she’s supplied?
Who’ll kiss cold lips and colder breast
In praise of Beauty at her best?
One lone old man, with long beard, gray,
Has ventured out on this Love’s Day.
Apollo gets his smile of bliss;
Athena’s fingers feel his kiss.
And that is all that I will tell
Of such a glad old lover’s spell.