And out of nowhere the clouds parted and Aphrodite herself appeared and spoke thus: Here are three Polish maidens for you, my poor aesthete. Photograph them, and immortalize their beauty!

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs

Indeed, their miraculously long and sexy legs left me in shock and awe, and I shed a tear of happiness, and then began to photograph like a man possessed!

But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine

Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves;
And mid-May’s eldest child

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death

Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath

The gods only know whence these girls came from, and where they were going. I daresay the gods only know!

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!

If only it were possible to take them with me to Never Never Land, where we would all remain young and beautiful and happy forever. But it is not. Everything must wither. Oh, cruel, cruel world!

Hello there, my silly long-legged beauty. I see you weren't able to pick the right shoelaces. I wonder how well you pick your politicians, for, after all, you are of voting age.

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain

To thy high requiem become a sod.