Monday, November 21, 2022

Spring Garland

 by Brett Rutherford

Adapted from Meleager, The Greek Anthology V.147

Which, the spring meadow, or
Heliodora’s wild tresses, grass
bursting green at verge of spring,
or the blond-gold weave and braid
I cannot stop caressing? Which?

Spring is her rival with white violets,
Narcissus amid the myrtle berries
makes one forget all other beauties.
Here come the lilies, mocking me
with fragrance a woman can wear

with artifice only. Crocus and hyacinth,
what more delicate, fair
as a new born fledgling, young
as never shall we be again? --
oh, unbearable, the thought
that roses will come back again,

her only real rivals. Put all
in a wreath, and watch
as she embrows herself,
the petals scattering
amid those impossible curls.

For this, most flowers die
willingly.

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