THE LOVER

(Callimachus)

May sleep so lie upon your breast
As I lie sleeping in the rain,
And as you gave your lover rest
May love give rest to you again.
The very passers-by are kind;
They succour him who sorrows most;
But never even in dreams your mind
Has dreamt of pity or her ghost.
O cruel, cruel! you do not care
Though I lie sleeping in the cold:
Perhaps the silver on your hair
May speak of this when you are old.