No More Learning

Seeking myself in myself, an unsatisfied spirit, I brooded,

Spying out pathways dark, lost in dreary reflection.

Here in an aether more clear now a luster encircles my forehead.

Phoebus the god evokes forms, clear are his colors by day.

Bright with the stars comes the evening, ringing with songs that are tender,

And the glow of the moon, brighter than northern sun.

What blessedness mortals may know! Am I now dreaming? Or welcomes

Jupiter, Father, as guest--me, to ambrosial halls?

See, I lie here extending my arms toward your knees. I am praying:

Hospitality's god, Jupiter Xenius! Hear:

How I am come to this place I no longer can say--I was

Seized up by Hebe. 'Twas she led to this sacred hill.

Did you command her a hero to seek and deliver before you?

May be she erred. Then forgive. Let her mistake profit me!
Does not Fortuna, your daughter, when strewing her glorious presents,

After the manner of girls, yield to each passing whim?

You, O hospitable god, will by no means now banish a stranger

From your Olympian heights back to the base earth again.

"Poet, come to your senses! "--Forgive me, Jupiter, is not

Rome's Capitoline Hill second Olympus to you?

Suffer me, Jupiter, here and let Hermes guide me at last then

Past Cestius' Tomb gently to Orkus below.




X

When you were small, you say, neither did others consider you f air, nor

Even your mother find praise--and I believe it--

Till you grew bigger, developing quietly over the years. I

Picture you to myself as an unusual child.

Also the blossoms on grapevines are wanting in shape and in color,

Although the fruit when it's ripe pleases both mankind and gods.




XI

Kindling autumnal fire in a rustic, convivial fireplace

(How the sticks crackle and spew flames and glittering sparks! )

Strikes me especially pleasant this evening. Before all my tinder

Dies away into coals, coals then to ashes decline,

She will be back and new faggots as well as big logs will be blazing,

Making a festival where lovers will warm up the night.

Then in the morning, officious, she'll leave the bed of her lover,

Rouse adroitly the flames out from their ashes anew.

Cupid has lent to her above others the gift of cajoling

Up from the ashes desire, just when slumber's begun.




XII

All of those greats: Alexander, Caesar and Henry and Fredrick,

Gladly would share with me half of their hard fought renown,

Could I but grant them my bed for one single night, and its comfort,

But the poor wretches are held stark in cold Orkian grip.

Therefore, ye living, rejoice that love keeps you warm for a while yet,

Until cold Lethe anoints, captures your foot in its flight.




XIII

They are for you, O ye graces, just a few leaves by a poet

Onto your pure altar laid, buds of the rose beside,

Offered in confidence.