After the painting by J.W.Waterhouse

Hylas, a Greek prince, sailing with Hercules on the Argonauts’ expedition, went ashore at Chios to fetch water, and was abducted by the nymphs.

What did he choose, Hylas, when

coming upon a pool thronged with nymphs

lovely as young women can be,

he folded his clothes on the bank,

forsook his comrades and the journey home,

and waded through the water lilies

to their namesakes?

Not love as we know it,

mining the stubborn and capricious seam,

but the life of the lotus-eater

who stretches out his hand

and cups a perfect breast,

the world contracted to a pellucid O

with himself as centre.

And did he live long, and happily?

Or was that moment – when he took

the first outstretched hand,

or met the first beseeching eyes

and did not turn away,

or took the first step into the other element -

his last, final and complete?

We doubt they grew old together

in the normal way, for travellers to see:

if they had a future it was hidden:

the public image does not bear such scrutiny,

must live in the perpetual present,

the immaculate instant of

unbounded, unspoken promises.

And the nymphs appear grave, as if

theirs is a serious, a tragic undertaking:

the abandonment of innocence; and he –

captivated by their loveliness,

whether believing he chooses, or that he has

no choice – leans towards them and will,

in a moment, we know, lay down his jug.