University of Virginia Library


2

TO COMATAS

τυ δ' υπο δρυσιν η υπο πευκαις
αδυ μελισδομενος κατακεκλισο, θειε Κοματα.

Here on this garden's close-cut grass,
Where here and there a leaf astray
Lies yellow, till the wind shall pass
And take it some new earthy way,
Here, O Comatas, let us lie
While yet the autumn sun is high.
The stir of men is quiet now,
But birds are singing each to each;
The robin on the apple bough
Sings to the robin in the beech,
And swallows twitter as they go
Wheeling and sweeping high and low.
No sound but these sweet madrigals
To our enclosèd garden comes,
Save when a ripened apple falls,
Or gnats intone, or a wasp hums.
Here shall thy voice bid time speed by,
O boy Comatas, as we lie.

17

Sing some old rhyme of long ago,
Of lady-love or wandering knight,
Of faithful friend and valorous foe,
And right not yet estranged from might.
The songs our singers sing us now,
O boy Comatas, sing not thou.
Sing, for thy voice has gentle power
To cancel years of fret and woe,
And I, remembering this one hour,
Shall pass sad days the happier so,
And thou, before the sun has set,
O boy Comatas, wilt forget.