P
A gigantic sea-rock assumes the face of a crying woman when the fog comes: some say she cries for our dead in the wars, some say it’s for those lost at sea: I have often seen her, head bowed: she faces the town, staring: the sea sound is her weeping; perhaps it is the weeping of many women: if I walk by that deserted spot at night, with the fog about me, I cling to Atthis or Exekias. No woman goes alone there, when the fog is about.
P
The moon has set and
The Pleiades have gone;
The night is half gone
And life speeds by.
I lie in bed, alone.
P
Going to see Alcaeus, I met Kleis and she threw her arms around me and kissed me, saying: