Good God! They say you are risqué!
O canzonetti,
We who went out into the four A.M. of the world,
Composing our albas;
We who shook off our dew with the rabbits;
We who have seen even Artemis a-binding her sandals,
Have we ever heard the like! O mountains of Hellas!

Gather about me, O Muses!
When we sat upon the granite brink in Helicon
Clothed in the tattered sunlight,
O Muses with delicate shins,
O Muses with delectable knee-joints,
When we splashed and were splashed with
The lucid Castalian spray,
Had we ever such an epithet
Cast upon us!