Is there a better hour than dusk?
I feel that life is infinitely precious at such an hour, that sordidness and decay are lies. It is the hour when we cross the threshold of starlight.
Sometimes, before dropping asleep, I long to see Olympus, as part of this general dream:
Never is it swept by the winds nor touched by snow,
a purer air surrounds it, a white clarity envelops it,
and the gods there taste of happiness that lasts forever...
P
It has been a dreadful ordeal. I can hardly describe the events of this past fortnight.
I had barely recovered from the shock of Aesop’s death, when word came that Alcaeus had been attacked.
I had gone to a friend’s home and we had been chatting on the sea-terrace, when children burst in with the alarming news. I hurried with them to Alcaeus, the boys distressing me with their fantasies.