Friday Poetry Blogging (yup, late again)

Wrong Number

Thalia kissed me where I stood,
Passing thousands by to gird me—
I’d undo it, if I could:
I’d rather she had never heard me!
It wasn’t she I quested after—
I’d hoped Erato might enlist me—
All my verse occasions laughter,
Since Thalia kissed me!

Someone once asked me if this was a dig at Leigh Hunt. It does look like one, but I honestly meant it only as a dig at myself.

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