Friday, August 22, 2008


The violet-lapped Muses' lovely gifts belong
to you now, children, and the piercing lyre, the friend of song.

My body, that before, was supple, age already has taken by surprise, my raven tresses are turned white,

my spirit has grown heavy and my knees too weak
to carry me, that once were quick to dance as fauns.

I grumble at them often but what good is that?
For human beings to be ageless is not possible.

They say that once, for love, Dawn of the rosy arms carried Tithonus aboard her golden bowl to the world's end

when young and handsome, but all the same in time gray age.

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