Come Close

I declare

That later on,

Even in an age unlike our own,

Someone will remember who we are.

Either I have slipped out of your head

Or you adore some fellow more, instead.

I don’t know what the right course is;

Twofold are my purposes.

Nightingale,

All you sing

Is desire;

You are the crier

Of coming spring.

Some call ships, infantry or horsemen

The greatest beauty earth can offer;

I say it is whatever a person

Most lusts after.

And I would rather watch her body

Sway, her glistening face flash dalliance

Than Lydian war cars at the ready

And armed battalions.

I have a daughter who reminds me of

A marigold in bloom.

Kleïs is her name,

And I adore her.

I would refuse all Lydia’s glitter for her

And all other love.

I do not have an

Ornately woven

Bandeau to hand you,

Kleïs. From

Where would it come?

Excuse the misdeeds in his past,

Make him his friends’ boon and foes’ bane,

And may we never find the least

Cause to complain.

Age weighs heavily on me, and the knees

Buckle that long ago, like fawns, pranced nimbly.

I groan much but to what end? Humans simply

Cannot be ageless like divinities.

As you are dear to me, go claim a younger

Bed as your due.

I can’t stand being the old one any longer,

Living with you.

… because

The people I most strive to please

Do me the worst injuries …

By giving me creations of their own

My girls have handed me renown.

And this next charming ditty I –

In honour of my girls –

Shall sing out prettily.