How could a man, barnacled as rock
at low tide, rank as seaweed,
have a story worth listening to
by a prince enamored of the moon?
Oh, sleep forever in the Latmian cave,
Mortal Endymion, darling of the Moon!
Wasn’t it beneath this spot the son of Kronos
pursued his inamorata, holding out a handful
of shining seeds?