Morning rain

The night is fading. The stars are far away.

Now the last courtesans

have all gone home with their lovers.

And I, in the morning rain,

I write these verses on the sand.

The leaves are loaded down with shining water.

The streams that go across

carry earth and dead leaves.

The rain, drop by drop,

makes holes in my song.

Oh! how sad and lonely I am here!

The youngest do not look at me;

and the oldest forget me.

But all will know my verses,

and the children of their children.

Here is something neither Myrtale, nor Thais,

nor Glykera will say,

the day their lovely cheeks grow saggy with age.

Those who will love after me

will sing my songs together.