Classic Poem

You came at last, dear girl, — yes, came at last,
After three nights and morns; and know you not,
That those who love, grow old with a day's waiting?

Dearest, as much as spring 's more sweet than winter,
Apples than damsons, or the fleecy ewe
Completer than her lamb, or the clear virgin
Attracts us more than the thrice-married woman,
Or the trim fawn is nimbler than the calf,
Or the sweet potent nightingale outsings
All birds, so much the very sight of you, —
The thought " I see her," — makes me happy-minded.
I ran to meet you, as a traveller.
Gets from the sun under a shady beech.
And would to heaven our loves were both alike!
All times to come should have us in their songs.

They say there were two lovers formerly,
Who loved so; one the courter, one the courted;
Yet both felt equally at last. Ah, those
Were golden times, when the beloved loved too.
Would it were so again, oh father Saturn,
Oh ye immortal gods, who grow not old;
And that some one, two centuries afterwards,
Should tell me so, in the unquittable shades!
That love of yours, sweet youth, and yours, sweet maid,
Are in all mouths. But let the Gods above
Do what seems good to them. Myself, meanwhile,
Shall feel no marks of falsehood on my nose;
For if my love can wound me now and then,
She does but make it up to me directly
With double balm; and I depart, o'er-recompensed.

Blest be your homes, ye Megaraean people,
Stoutest of rowers, — who above all guests
Honoured Diocles with his amorous fame.
Still at his tomb, assembling with the spring,
The youth contend to get the prize in kissing;
And she, who sweetliest presses lip to lip,
Goes home, with crowns quite bending, to her mother.

Happy the judge, who has to taste those kisses!
One girl, who gained the crowns, it is well known,
Possessed a mouth, red as those Lydian rubies,
With which assayers try adulterate gold.