INSCRIPTIONS

I

We pass and dream. Earth smiles. Virtue is rare.

Age, duty, gods weigh on our conscious bliss.

Hope for the best and for the worst prepare.

That sum of purposed wisdom speaks in this.

II

Me, Chloe, a maid, the mighty fates have given,

Who was nought to them, to the peopled shades.

Thus the gods will. My years were but twice seven.

I am forgotten in my distant glades.

III

From my villa on the hill I long looked down

Upon the muttering town;

Then one day drew (life sight-sick, dull hope shed)

My toga o'er my head

(The simplest gesture being the greatest thing)

Like a raised wing.

IV

Not Cecrops kept my bees. My olives bore

Oil like the sun. My several herd lowed far.

The breathing traveller rested by my door.

The wet earth smells still; dead ray nostrils are.

V

I conquered. Far barbarians hear my name.

Men were dice in my game,

But to my throw myself did lesser come:

I threw dice, Fate the sum.

VI

Some were as loved, some as prizes prized.

A natural wife to the fed man my mate,

I was sufficient to whom I sufficed.

I moved, slept, bore and aged without a fate.

VII

I put by pleasure like an alien bowl.

Stern, separate, mine, I looked towards where gods seem.

From behind me the common shadow stole.

Dreaming that I slept not, I slept my dream.

VIII

Scarce five years passed ere I passed too.

Death came and took the child he found.

No god spared, or fate smiled at, so

Small hands, clutching so little round.

IX

There is a silence where the town was old.

Grass grows where not a memory lies below.

We that dined loud are sand. The tale is told.

The far hoofs hush. The inn's last light doth go.

X

We, that both lie here, loved. This denies us.

My lost hand crumbles where her breasts' lack is.

Love's known, each lover is anonymous.

We both felt fair. Kiss, for that was our kiss.

XI

I for my city's want fought far and fell.

I could not tell

What she did want, that knew she wanted me.

Her walls be free,

Her speech keep such as I spoke, and men die,

That she die not, as I.

XII

Life lived us, not we life. We, as bees sip,

Looked, talked and had. Trees grow as we did last.

We loved the gods but as we see a ship.

Never aware of being aware, we passed.

XIII

The work is done. The hammer is laid down.

The artisans, that built the slow-grown town,

Have been succeeded by those who still built.

All this is something lack-of-something screening.

The thought whole has no meaning

But lies by Time's wall like a pitcher spilt.

XIV

This covers me, that erst had the blue sky.

This soil treads me, that once I trod. My hand

Put these inscriptions here, half knowing why;

Last, and hence seeing all, of the passing band.