Hyacinthus and Apollo I

It was Apollo Hyacinthus loved,
And never happier was he than when
Before his horses carried him above,
They sang together in the dewy glen.
   His chariot and circling fire were great,
   Yet for the sacrifice he made it seemed
   There wasn't anything to obligate
   Him, loving naturally as he dreamed.
And in his day the boy knew love from him,
That product Beauty stoops to proffer men.
Their joy was effortless, was grace and whim;
If man could be love he had learned it then.
   He must have had what many die to find.
   Poor Hyacinthus! Down the disk declined.