Bleak ancient brown-grey Mediterrean pitcher
That smiles subdued now
Trimmed
By the feet of centuries past
Passing your face Mediterranean pitcher:
How many a humid night of Mediterranean summer
Your wine perfumed the luscious table
And the words of togad speakers rose
And fell and rose again around you as you lay
Carrying the cool earth to them and ruddy face.
Your face no longer ruddy is but languid-pale
As the moon shines in autumn nights
Or when the grisly clouds bypass the mere
Frozen and shuddering under Winter’s hand:
Your face no longer ruddy is but languid-pale.
Still unbroken lie you though around
The voices are not heard that long ago
Muttered and chirped around you near each night
And flames burnt in their torch on the high walls
And mugs of merriment rose high and high
And ruddy faces shone and ate and spoke.
Unbroken you lie now though around
The centuries have passed by and silently
And voices are not heard that long ago
Muttered and chirped around you:
Your faded luster looks at your colors subdued
And both
in silent conspiracy rue the time that passed:
Your face no longer ruddy is but languid-pale
Down on the floor; dust-covered lies
The lyre that long ago was strung
When you were passed around in merriment
And carried the cool earth nigh every night
Still is the song that rose and sung with it:
Your sides are still unbroken; your heart broke.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem