Now that I have known beauty:
the unseeing marble eyes, straight nose,
and lips parted in blind inwardness,
how can I cut from my mind
the depth of the stone from the sea
and the injustice of the figure bound for the river?
Now that I have known love:
the laughter of your eyes,
the magic of your slender waist,
and the excitement of the moment
when your hair falls around the
nakedness of your arms and chest,
how can I forget myself
in the summer that will never die,
or in the friends that understand
the sadness I hide from my thoughts?
Now that I have witnessed the open sea
and the god disguised as a tiller man,
let Athena speak to my inconstant heart
of the life and of the home that comes after life.
This poem is part of a collection called ‘Divan.’