If you appoint her, whom you love, as Muse,
invite her to your poems without her shoes.
She will respond with deep appreciation.
Unshod, her most delightful inspiration
will trace your lines with eager, stockinged feet.
Nor cater to the world's whims: its conceit
will raise the question of perversity.
Ignore that. In the temple, Poetry,
the lost world is a minor irritation
at most, and its inherent paucity
shall not despoil your Muse's delectation.