O Were I Arion

O, were I Arion, Greek poet of old lore,
Could charm thee into loving me an hour,
I’d change thee not from what you were before,
But hold within perfections of my power,
That your free choice might choose it what it will,
And you keep to your saying, “NO, no,” still.
For though I ache to hear you say “I do,”
I will not false one love word sent from you.
Yet some say, poets, they are charmers all,
To hear too much is to beget your fall.
They ring you round with rhymes to dizziness
And get you say, “Oh Love, I will confess!”
So, master of myself, I’ll do no harm,
Though in this very verse I work my charm.

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