Half An Hour
I never had you, nor will I ever have you I suppose. A few words, an approach As in the bar yesterday, and nothing more. It is, undeniably, a pity. But we who serve
Candles
The days of our future stand in front of us Like a row of little lit candles Golden, warm, and lively little candles. The days past remain behind us, A mournful line of extinguished
Addition
I do not question whether I am happy or unhappy. Yet there is one thing that I keep gladly in mind That in the great addition (their addition that I abhor) That has so
Hidden Things
Let them not seek to discover who I was From all that I have done and said. An obstacle was there that transformed The deeds and the manner of my life. An obstacle was
Darius
The poet Phernazis is composing The important part of his epic poem. How Darius, son of Hystaspes, Assumed the kingdom of the Persians. (From him Is descended our glorious king Mithridates, Dionysus and Eupator).
Monotony
One monotonous day is followed By another monotonous, identical day. The same Things will happen, they will happen again The same moments find us and leave us. A month passes and ushers in another
Che Fece… Il Gran Rifiuto
For some people the day comes When they have to declare the great Yes Or the great No. It’s clear at once who has the Yes Ready within him; and saying it, He goes
One Of Their Gods
When one of them passed through the market place Of Seleucia, toward the hour that night falls As a tall and perfectly handsome youth, With the joy of immortality in his eyes, With his
Exiles
It goes on being Alexandria still. Just walk a bit Along the straight road that ends at the Hippodrome And you’ll see palaces and monuments that will amaze you. Whatever war-damage it’s suffered, However
So Much I Gazed
So much I gazed on beauty, That my vision is replete with it. Contours of the body. Red lips. Voluptuous limbs. Hair as if taken from greek statues; Always beautiful, even when uncombed, And
In Church
I love the church: its labara, Its silver vessels, its candleholders, The lights, the ikons, the pulpit. Whenever I go there, into a church of the Greeks, With its aroma of incense, Its liturgical
Priest At The Serapeum
My dear old father, Who always loved me the same; My dear old father I lament Who died the day before yesterday, just before dawn. Jesus Christ, it is my daily effort To observe
The Bandaged Shoulder
He said that he had hurt himself on a wall or that he had fallen. But there was probably another reason For the wounded and bandaged shoulder. With a somewhat abrupt movement, To bring
Of The Shop
He wrapped them carefully, neatly In costly green silk. Roses of ruby, lilies of pearl, Violets of amethyst. As he himself judged, As he wanted them, they look beautiful to him; not as he
He Came To Read
He came to read. Two or three books Are open; historians and poets. But he only read for ten minutes, And gave them up. He is dozing On the sofa. He is fully devoted