by Brett Rutherford
Adapted from Poseidippus, The Greek Anthology, v, 213
So poor, no more
than a hut she has.
Pythias is kind to strays.
Cats make a path
to her garden gate.
She names, and is known by
every dog outcast. I swear
she feeds the birds herself
from that dainty, open hand.
than a hut she has.
Pythias is kind to strays.
Cats make a path
to her garden gate.
She names, and is known by
every dog outcast. I swear
she feeds the birds herself
from that dainty, open hand.
Is it any wonder
she seldom sleeps alone?
If no one is there tonight
I'd try my chances.
Invoking some god
or another for luck,
I'd tap at the entryway,
light as a hen-peck
or the faintest scratch
of a plaintive kitten.
she seldom sleeps alone?
If no one is there tonight
I'd try my chances.
Invoking some god
or another for luck,
I'd tap at the entryway,
light as a hen-peck
or the faintest scratch
of a plaintive kitten.
Oh, she'd come running.
It's midnight out,
and raining, too.
I'd blurt some tale
of being tossed
from the tavern, and then,
the prey of thieves,
stripped to my last
farthing. See here,
even my sandal is torn!
It's midnight out,
and raining, too.
I'd blurt some tale
of being tossed
from the tavern, and then,
the prey of thieves,
stripped to my last
farthing. See here,
even my sandal is torn!
With Eros behind me,
and Aphrodite before
to daze her eyes,
how can sweet Pythias
not open the door?
and Aphrodite before
to daze her eyes,
how can sweet Pythias
not open the door?
