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11. |
Have You forgotten then my heart of old,
That college of Love, that whip that bright eyes hold? |
The school-bred demi-goddesses of this age
Lack the carved grace of the old pagan mold! |
This is a strange world, neither cage nor nest,
With no calm nook in all its spacious fold. |
The vine awaits Your bounteous rain: no more
Is the Magian wine in Persia’s taverns sold. |
My comrades thought my song were of Spring’s kindling—
How should they know what in Love’s notes is told? |
Out of my flesh and blood You made this earth;
Its quenchless fever the martyr’s crown of gold. |
My days supported by Your alms, I do not
Complain against my friends, or the times scold. |
Translated by: V.G. Kiernan |
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