Short Poems

" This world's the worst conceivable! " he said.
But, O philosopher, pray tell me where
You found your plummet, — good, — the measuring lead
With which you sound the depths of your despair?

A lady wept o'er " Little Nell, "
As Dickens told her sorrows o'er.
Just then, her servant came to tell
A ragged child was at the door.
She looked up, brushed her tears aside,
And, " Can't be bothered! " she replied.

O wanderer, rest your tired limbs under this elm; the breeze murmurs in the light-green branches.
Drink a cool draught from the spring. This resting place is dear to wayfarers in the hot summer.

Watch the horned he-goat of Bromius, how proud are the fierce eyes in his shaggy head!
He is proud because as they go together over the hills Nais holds in her hand a lock of hair on his cheek.

Sit beneath the beautiful leaves of this laurel, and draw the sweet water from the fresh spring:
You are breathless from the heat; rest your dear limbs and let the breath of Zephyrus touch them.

This is the land of Cypris, since it pleases her to gaze for ever from land over the glittering sea,
So that she may bear the sailors safe to land; and the sea quivers, looking upon her shining image.

In place of the happy bride-bed and sacred marriage songs, a mother laid her daughter in this marble tomb —
A girl who had your beauty and your stature, Thersis. And while we yet speak of her you also fade away.

We lived together, O dear land of Miletus, spurning the sin of the lawless Galatians,
We, three girls, fellow-citizens, slain by the violent Ares of the Kelts.
We did not stay for dishonourable embraces but found a bridegroom in Hades.

I mourn the maiden Antibia, through the fame of whose beauty and wisdom
Many eager young men came to her father's house. Fate, the destroyer, rolls hope far away from all.

The earth of Lydia holds Amyntor, Philip's son; he gained many things in iron battle.
No sickness led him to the house of night; he died, holding his round shield before his friend.