WHOM THE GODS LOVE

He's so chubby and happy and wonderful,

Dainty and perfectly made,

That when he kicks at the sunbeams there,

Out on the grass in his cradle chair,

Somehow I feel afraid.

We ought to hide him away, I think,

Real beauty was always a bane,

If the gods get to know of his baby wiles,

Of his firm round limbs, or his magic smiles,

They'll want him back again.