If Only They Saw

Eyes, eyes, eyes, bright
as a volcano’s fire,
why do they not burn
one another up entirely?

The gods so peopled the earth
with beautiful men, and yet
so many sit, ignoring the other
like separate rivulets
of lava, one touch of which
could set a tree ablaze.

This one opposite that,
each reading his book —
blond hair, jet black,
chestnut brown, red locks
curling, a shoulder bared,
hand turning a scroll just so,
neck nape, the curves from

thighs to sandaled
feet, the noble line
of brow to nose unbroken.
All could be models
for some masterpiece.

Oh, nothing would get done
if they all suddenly noticed,
but then, I wonder
if after harvest came,
hearth-fires secured
with winter wood-pile,
and wars averted or never
even dreamt of, why not?

What joy if each devoted
to love and worship
all such beauty, his life?