I would never have sold
The nearly naked bronze,
The Neapolitan boy
Laughing and running,
If I had known
That one of my young swans
Had thought him stunning,
And wished he were her own.
As one grew old
He came to cloy.
The charm had gone,
I felt he should go after,
And let him run on
With his laughter.
But neither was too young
For the other, he or she,
And he might have hung
Back, still running, for me
To make my bow;
Or better,
I could have let her
Have him now.