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The Great Mirror of Same-Sex Love - Poetry - 47. ...Grant him to me...
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When strolling through the flower mart,
I saw him there, twinging crimson buds
amongst barbs of berries: I was wounded.
I paused only to find myself whispering,
“What price, dear lad, need I pay
to win your crowning wreath?”
He blushed fairer than his rosebuds,
gazed upon the ground, and replied,
“Be gone, sir, ‘fore my father spies us.”
I bought some garlands as pretense to linger,
but returning home, in earnest I draped
the family altar. My prayer: “Grant him to me.”
—Strato of Sardis,[i]
circa 145
[i] “When strolling through the flower mart” Strato of Sardis Musa Puerilis
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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