“The hair is gray on my head.
Boy, give me water, add some wine
Make my heart numb.
Soon you will cover me, no longer alive.
You want nothing when you’re dead.”
“Along with garland bearing spring
I plan to sing clearly
Of her gentle companion, the rose.
This is the immortals’ breath,
This is delight for mortals,
And the Graces’ pride in all seasons,
The lovely plaything
Of blossoming Loves.
This is a theme for myths,
This charming shoot of the Muses,
Sweet to find when one is making
Their way along prickly paths;
Sweet to take in turn, to warm
In gentle hands, pressing
This light flower of Love.
Could we ever be without
The rose at the tables
And feasts of Dionysus?
Dawn is called rosy-toed,
The Nymphs are rosy-armed,
Aphrodite is tinted-rose
When named by people who know.
This pleasure is the same for the ignorant;
This is helpful to the sick too;
This helps protect the dead and
This even fights against time:
For the old age of roses
Retains the charming scent of something new
Come, let’s talk of its creation:
When from the murky sea
The water was giving birth to
Aphrodite dampened with foam,
And Zeus was displaying on his brow
War-loving Athena
A terror for Olympus to see,
The earth let flower
A new surprising growth of roses,
An intricate creation.
She made the rose to be
Like the blessed gods themselves–
Then Luaios watered it with nektar,
Joining it to the haughty thorn,
a life to last forever.
“The hair is gray on my head.
Boy, give me water, add some wine
Make my heart numb.
Soon you will cover me, no longer alive.
You want nothing when you’re dead.”
