CHAERONEAN Plutarch, to thy deathless praise
Does martial Rome this grateful statue raise;
Because both Greece and she thy fame have shared,
(Their heroes written and their lives compared;)
But thou thyself could'st never write thine own;
Their lives have parallels, but thine has none.
Thank God for pluck–unknown to slaves–
The self ne'er of its Self bereft,
Who, when the right arm's shattered, waves
The good flag with the left.
Ploughing the land--
not even a bird singing
in the mountain's shadow.
Translated by Robert Hass
Do you think of me
as often
as I think
of you?
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than I am,
by what devious means do you contrive
to remain idle? Teach me, O master.
Pissing in the snow
outside my door--
it makes a very straight hole.
Translated by Robert Hass
THEY rise to mastery of wind and snow;
They go like soldiers grimly into strife
To colonize the plain. They plough and sow,
And fertilize the sod with their own life,
As did the Indian and the buffalo.
If you want to pick flowers, you have to hike.
Climbing up, don't worry about your weary bones.
Pluck the low branches, pull down the high.
Enjoy alike the spent blossoms, the tight buds.
Phyllidula is scrawny but amorous,
Thus have the gods awarded her,
That in pleasure she receives more than she can give;
If she does not count this blessed
Let her change her religion.
Thy flattering picture, Phryne, is like thee,
Only in this, that you both painted be.
