Garden of Eros

Oscar Wilde was a man of many words, as can be seen from the length of some of his poems. The Garden of Eros is a tad lengthy, but beautiful - an invocation of both the wonders of nature (gardeners should enjoy it) but also the power of myth and legend to transport readers into a whole other realm away from the prosaic and pragmatic.
Eros is the god not only of sexual and sensual desire but, in the Platonic philosophy the power of attraction in general - the force that holds atoms together and draws intellects to the the topics that uplift and inspire them. Is Wilde singing the praises of the literary Muse that inspires him, or is he thinking of some pretty young man (hopefully not the petulant Bosie) with whom he has shared his love of Greek Myth, Arthurian romances, and the all the other sagas? I'm not sure it wholly matters to whom the poem is addressed. Ultimately I see it as a love poem to the very power of storytelling itself.
The photo, incidentally, is of the gardens at Cliveden should anyone want to plan a trip once the lock-down is over.