by Brett Rutherford
Adapted from Asclepiades, The Greek Anthology, v, 150.
She made an oath one ought
not take in vain: Demeter’s
name she invoked in promising
to come to me tonight.
So much for Nico’s word.
The famous one is faithless,
it seems. It’s almost three
and I grow sleepy waiting.
Why did she promise so
earnestly? Do words
mean nothing at the end?
Go servant, and snuff out
the lamp left by the garden gate.
Now it would serve only thieves,
and there is no use wasting oil.
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