human
Can you continue this poem for me?
  As I am taught by my muse, carefully sort them in plots:
Fertile branches, whose product is golden fruit of my lifetime,
Set here in happier years, tended with pleasure today.
Nothing to fear. Freely pluck, whosoever would eat.
One of those criminals comes, squinting out over my garden,
Using the stake which so red rises there at your loins.
Tell me ye stones and give me O glorious palaces answer.
Speak O ye streets but one word. Genius, art thou alive?
ROMA eternal. For me, only, are all things yet mute.
Can't I divine yet the paths through which over and over
To her and from her I'll go, squandering valuable time?
Visiting churches and palaces, all of the ruins and the pillars,
I, a responsible man, profit from making this trip.
With my business accomplished, ah, then shall only one temple,
AMOR's temple alone, take the initiate in.
World would not be the world, Rome would cease to be Rome.
More than ever I dreamed, I have found it: my happy good fortune!
Cupid sagaciously led past those palazzos so fine.
He of course knows very well (and I have also discovered)
What, beneath tapestries rich, gilded boudoirs conceal.
Clever Cupid, too well! O, incorruptible god!
We were by no means inveigled to enter façades so majestic;
Somber cortilé we passed, balcony high and gallant,
Hastening onward until an humble but exquisite portal
Offered a refuge to both, ardent seeker and guide.
Each day that passes he spreads freshly plucked roses for me.
--Isn't that heaven on earth? Say, beautiful Lady Borghese,
What would you give to me more? --You, Nipotina, what yours?
These but deprive my sweet boy of his most opportune times.
Finery, haughtiness do not entice me. Does one not lift a
Gown of the finest brocade just as one lifts common wool?
If she's to press in comfort a lover against that soft bosom,
Doesn't he want her to be free from all brooches and chains?
All of it come off entire, if he's to learn how she feels?
At but a lover's mere touch, tumbles in folds to the floor.
Just as a nursemaid might, playfully up to her bed.
Large is this room where the bed offers its comfort for two.
Jupiter's welcome to more from his Juno if he can get it;
Let any mortal find rest, softer, wherever he can.
We are content with Cupid's delights, authentic and naked--
And with the exquisite creak /crack of the bed as it rocks.
High society's lords, ladies so groomed and refined.
"Lotte, oh where did she live, Werther's only true love?"
How many times have I cursed those frivolous pages that broadcast
Out among all mankind passions I felt in my youth!
Were he my brother, why then I 'd have murdered poor Werther.
Yet his despondent ghost couldn't have sought worse revenge.
Down to Livorno from France, thence from Livorno to Rome,
All of the way into Naples and then, should he flee on to Madras,
Happily now I've escaped, and my mistress knows Werther and Lotte
Not a whit better than who might be this man in her bed:
Who beyond mountains and snow, dwelt in a house made of wood.
Do not, beloved, regret that you yielded to me so quickly:
I entertain no base, insolent thoughts about you.
Arrows of Cupid work divers effects. Some do but scratch us:
Slow and insidious these poison our hearts over years.
Pierce to the marrow, inflame rapidly there our blood.
When gods and goddesses in days of heroes made love, then
Lust followed look and desire, with no delay, was indulged.
When, in Idean grove, Anchises caught her eye.
Nor did Luna delay about kissing that beautiful dreamer--
Jealous Aurora had else hastily wakened the lad.
At the loud banquet Hero regarded Leander--then promptly
Into dark waters he plunged, ardently swam toward his love.
When Rhea Silvia, princess and virgin, came down to the Tiber
Just to fetch water, a god seized her and that is the way
Mars begat himself sons, a pair of twins whom a she wolf
Suckled. Today a proud Rome claims to be queen of the world.
We are so pious, we lovers. Discreetly we worship all powers,
Hoping for favor from each god and each goddess as well.
We are like you, ye victorious Romans, in this:  for we offer
Gods of all peoples and tribes, over the whole world, a home--
Or from the marble a Greek, form them charming and white--
Yet the eternal ones do not object to particularism
Therefore we gladly confess to singling a special immortal
And our devotions each day pledging but solely to her.
Mischievous celebrants we at these mysteries gay, and so solemn:
Silence exactly befits rites at which we're adepts.
Rather onto our heels by horrible deeds the Erinyes
We would allure, even Zeus' punishment sooner we'd dare--
Under that rock, or bound to a tumbling wheel we'd endure it--
Than we'd withdraw our hearts from the delights of her cult.
Sweet Opportunity, that is her name. You should meet her.
Often will she turn up, ever in a new form.
Daughter of Proteus might well she be whom he sired upon Thetis.
In metamorphoses they've many a hero deceived.
So now the daughter beguiles the naive and bedazzles the foolish,
Teases you while you're asleep; when you awaken, she's flown.
Eagerly yields herself up to the quick, to the active man only.
He discovers she's tame, playful and tender and sweet.
Once she appeared to me, too: a dark-skinned girl, tumbling
Over her forehead the hair down in waves heavy and dark.
Round about a delicate neck curled short little ringlets;
Up from the crown of her head crinkled the unbraided hair.
When she dashed by me I seized her, mistaking her not. Lovingly
Kiss and embrace she returned, knowing and teaching me how.
O how enraptured I was! Ah, say now no more. It's a bygone.
But, O pigtails of Rome, still I'm entrammled in you.
Happily now on classical soil I feel inspiration.
Voices from present and past speak here evocatively.
Heeding ancient advice, I leaf through the works of the Ancients
With an assiduous hand. Daily the pleasure's renewed.
If erudition is halved, rapture is doubled that way.
Form, and the line of her hips stroke with my hand? I acquire,
As I reflect and compare, my first understanding of marble,
See with an eye that feels, feel with a hand that sees.
While my beloved, I grant it, deprives me of moments of daylight,
She in the nighttime hours gives compensation in full.
And we do more than just kiss; we prosecute reasoned discussions
In her embrace--it's by no means unusual--I've composed poems
And the hexameter's beat gently tapped out on her back,
Air from deep in her breast penetrates mine and there burns.
For the triumvirs he similar service performed.
"Can you be cruel enough to sadden me thus with reproaches?
Germans speak, I suppose, bitterly when they're in love.
Or am I not? But, alas, all of my guilt was with you.
Clothes that you've given bear witness for envious neighbors
That the poor widow no more grieves for her husband alone.
Did you not thoughtlessly visit me in the disguise of a cleric,
Muffled all up in a cloak, hair all rounded behind?
Who was it chose that gray monk if not you? Well then a prelate
Now is my lover--Ah, who is my prelate but you?
Never, incredible as it may sound in this clerical city,
Has any cleric brought me--swear it I will--to his bed.
I was sufficiently poor, sad to say. I was young. The seducers
Noted it well. Falconier ogled me often enough.
One of the pimps for Albani with billets doux very impressive
Called me to Ostia once. Quattro Fontani next time.
Hated with all of her heart stockings both violet and red.
So said my father although--Mother was not much impressed.
You don't believe your own words. They're your excuse to escape.
Go, then. Unworthy of women are men. We, who carry your children
Next to our hearts, in these hearts loyalty we bear you, too.
And your desires dissipate, love with them passes away."
Presses it close to her heart, kisses it, tears in her eyes.
I'm now so very ashamed of myself for having permitted
Gossip of neighbors to spoil picture so eloquent.
Water dashed on the coals suddenly smothers their glow.
Rapidly then renewed heat overcomes those lowering vapors,
Sends up a flame that anew bright and more powerful gleams.
How very happy I am here in Rome when I think of the bad days
Far back there in the north, wrapped in a grayish light.
Over my head there the heavens weighed down so dismal and gloomy;
Colorless, formless, that world round this exhausted man lay.
Seeking myself in myself, an unsatisfied spirit, I brooded,
Spying out pathways dark, lost in dreary reflection.
Here in an æther more clear now a luster encircles my forehead.
Phoebus the god evokes forms, clear are his colors by day.
And the glow of the moon, brighter than northern sun.
What blessedness mortals may know! Am I now dreaming? Or welcomes
Jupiter, Father, as guest--me, to ambrosial halls?
Hospitality's god, Jupiter Xenius! Hear:
How I am come to this place I no longer can say--I was
Seized up by Hebe.  'Twas she led to this sacred hill.
assistant
Sure, a continuation for this poem could be:
  Did you command her a hero to seek and deliver before you?
May be she erred. Then forgive. Let her mistake profit me!
After the manner of girls, yield to each passing whim?
You, O hospitable god, will by no means now banish a stranger
From your Olympian heights back to the base earth again.
"Poet, come to your senses!"--Forgive me, Jupiter, is not
Rome's Capitoline Hill second Olympus to you?
Suffer me, Jupiter, here and let Hermes guide me at last then
Past Cestius' Tomb gently to Orkus below.
Even your mother find praise--and I believe it--
Till you grew bigger, developing quietly over the years. I
Picture you to myself as an unusual child.
Although the fruit when it's ripe pleases both mankind and gods.
Kindling autumnal fire in a rustic, convivial fireplace
(How the sticks crackle and spew flames and glittering sparks!)
Dies away into coals, coals then to ashes decline,
Making a festival where lovers will warm up the night.
Rouse adroitly the flames out from their ashes anew.
Cupid has lent to her above others the gift of cajoling
Up from the ashes desire, just when slumber's begun.
All of those greats: Alexander, Caesar and Henry and Fredrick,
Gladly would share with me half of their hard fought renown,
But the poor wretches are held stark in cold Orkian grip.
Until cold Lethe anoints, captures your foot in its flight.
They are for you, O ye graces, just a few leaves by a poet
Onto your pure altar laid, buds of the rose beside,
So as to make for a space Pantheon-like in decor:
Jupiter lowers that godly brow while his Juno looks upward;
Phoebus takes forward strides, shaking his curly head;
While phlegmatic Minerva peers down on us, frivolous Hermes
Seems to be looking askance, roguish, though tender as well.
But it's to Bacchus, the sensuous dreamer, Cythera sends glances
Bathed in sweetest desire--even in marble they're damp.
Shouldn't our glorious son here at our side stand erect?
Can't you hear voices, beloved, out on the Via Flamina?
Reapers are now going home, back from harvesting grain.
They had journeyed to Rome from afar, and here plaited for Ceres
Wreaths which the Romans today scorn to make for themselves.
Festivals no longer celebrate Ceres, the nourishing goddess
Who replaced acorns of old, giving man golden wheat.
Let us commemorate her then ourselves in festival private
(Two constitute a whole tribe, when they are two in love).
Followed victorious troops back from Eleusis to Rome?
Even within Roman walls: "Come to the sanctified night."
Waiting in garments of white, symbol of all that is pure.
Then the initiates must aimlessly wander about through the eerie
Circles of figures as if pilgriming through their own dreams.
Caskets securely locked, richly wreathéd with grain.
Impatient acolytes wait, anxiously hoping for light.
Not until after many a testing and trial did they discover
What, within sacred ring, secretive image concealed.
What was this mystery other than this:   that Demeter, goddess,
Once upon a time had to a hero been kind.
It was to Jason, powerful king of the Cretans, she granted
Of her immortal self hidden sweet parts to explore.
That made the fortune of Crete! The marital bed of the goddess
Soon grew pregnant with grain, heavy her bounteous fields.
As for the rest of the world, it languished away, while Ceres,
Derelict of her true task, dalliance offered in love.
Turned and beckoned their loves--love, do you comprehend?
See there the sacred shade beneath that bushy-boughed myrtle?
Our satisfaction will there scarcely endanger a world.
I have the best of intentions toward you who have now dedicated--
I recognize it with thanks--life and writings to me.
Here in this far away land pleasing to such an old friend.
Every traveller I've ever known has complained of poor treatment:
He whom I recommend treatment delicious receives.
Cultivated your eye, sensing each hallowéd space.
How you've revered the formative will of those ancient artists!
In their own ateliers often I 've visited them.
Not. Oh come now, admit what I am saying is true.
Where is invention's glow now? Where is the color all gone?
Yet remains open.  Its gates, years have not closed them to you.
I am eternally young, and as teacher I still love the young ones.
Wisdom that comes with old age pleases me not. Listen here:
Wasn't antiquity young when those fortunate Ancients were living?
Happy then be your life, too: in it antiquity lives.
As for a style truly grand, love can alone give you that."
I am wont to obey, when my commander decrees.
While he is stealing my time, potency, presence of mind.
Gazing into her eyes, holding hands, giving kisses, exchanging
Syllables sweet and those words lovers alone understand,
Murmuring our conversations we stutter in sweet oratory.
Hymns of such sort pass away, wanting prosodical tact.
Goddess of morning, Aurora, as friend of my muse I once knew you.
Has the unprincipled god, Cupid, seduced you now too?
His festive altar again, where I must celebrate him?
Pressing my arm as it's bent, so as to pillow her neck.
What a delicious condition, if only these few tranquil moments
Could in my memory fix firmly that image of joy
From my side turns, as she goes leaving her hand in my hand.
Only returning desire knows oscillation or change.
Into my own eyes. No--don't. Let my thoughts rest on your form!
All too soon of the joy quiet reflection affords.
Had Ariadne lain thus, Theseus never had fled.
Only a single kiss for these lips and then, O Theseus, leave her;
Look at her eyes--she's awake! Now you're eternally bound.
Until the curfew shall ring, full half an hour must pass."
Lamplight, console me till then, harbinger warm of the night.
Poets of old in chorus cried out against those two serpents,
Making them horrible names, hated in all of the world:
Python the one, the other the Hydra of Lerna. These monsters
Both have now been destroyed, thanks to the deeds of the gods.
Fire-breathing, venomous once, they no longer now depredate our
Flocks and meadows and woods, fields of golden grain.
How is it then that some spiteful god in his wrath has
Raised from the poisonous slime offspring so monstrous again?
There's an insidious viper creeps into the loveliest gardens,
Lying in wait to attack all who seek pleasure therein.
Noble Hesperian dragon, I call you courageous and forthright.
Boldly defending your own beautiful apples of gold.
As for this worm, why he is not guarding at all, for his presence
Sullies both garden and fruit, till they deserve no defense.
Turning to poisonous drool Cupid's lifegiving dew.
Happy Lucretius knew how in his day to forego love completely,
Fearing not to enjoy pleasure in anyone's arms.
From the Aventine Hill, from Tarpeia's grove.
Cynthia then, when driving you out of such unchaste embraces,
Found you unfaithful, it's true, but she did find you whole.
Who would today dare attempt to escape from fidelity's ennui?
Love does not hold one back--only concern for one's health.
Even the woman we love may afford us uncertain enjoyment;
Nowhere can feminine lap safely encouch a man's head.
Matrimonial bed's insecure and so's fornication;
Husband, lover and wife pass to each other the hurt.
Think of those ages of gold when Jupiter followed his urges,
Chose Callisto one day, turned to Semel the next.
It was important to him to find thresholds of temples so sacred
Pure when, enamoured, he sought powerful entry to them.
Can you imagine the ragings of Juno if in love's skirmish
Poisonous weapons on her by her own spouse had been turned?
But we neo-pagans may not after all be abandoned entirely:
Yet there is speeding a god mercifully over the earth,
Quick and assiduous. Everyone knows him and ought to adore him,
Herald of Zeus: Hermes, the healing god.
Although his father's temple be fallen, and though of its pillars
Scarcely a pair yet records ancient glory adored,
Nevertheless the son's place of worship still stands, and forever
Will there the ardent requests alternate with the thanks.
Only one favor I beg of you, Graces (I ask it in secret--
Fervent my prayer and deep, out of a passionate breast):
My little garden, my sweet one, protect it and do not let any
Evil come near it nor me. Cupid will hold out his hand:
O, and entrusting myself to the rascal, I beg you please may I
Do so in pleasure with no danger or worry or fear.
I cannot think I'd have gone with Julius Caesar to Britain;
To the Popina right here, Florus would tug me with ease.
Fogs of the dreary north remain a more baleful remembrance
Than in the kitchens of Rome tribes of assiduous fleas.
After today, I'll remember you even more kindly, tavernas,
You osterias, as you are called, aptly by those here in Rome.
That was the place I encountered my mistress today with the uncle
Whom she so often deceives, so that she can have me.
Here's where I sat at a table surrounded by good-natured Germans;
Over on that side the girl, finding a seat for herself
Nicely for me to perceive profile and curve of her neck;
Significant glance as she pours--misses the glass with the wine
So that it spills on the table, and she with a delicate finger
Over its surface can draw circles in damp arabesque:
Her name entwining in mine, while my eyes most eagerly follow
All that her fingertip writes. She is of course well aware
That I am watching, so finally makes the V of the Roman
Five, with a virgule before. Quickly, as soon as I've seen,
She interlaces the circles, reducing them all to ornatest
Patterns--but still the sweet IV stood as engraved in my eye.
I sat there mutely and biting my passionate lips almost bloody
Half from delight at the ruse, partly from stifled desire:
Such a long time until dark, then another four hours of waiting.
--Sun, who tarries on high, contemplating Rome:
Greater never you've nor shall you in future see greater
Than Rome, O sun, as your priest, Horace, enraptured foretold.
Tarry no longer today. Go seek other realms beneath heaven.
Sooner depart and leave Rome's seven famed hills to me.
Please do the poet a favor and shorten the glorious hours
Which the painter devours, eagerly filling his eyes.
Cupolas, pillars, and--last--up at the obelisks. Then
Hastily plunge to the ocean. Come view all the sooner tomorrow
That which, for centuries now, gods have let you enjoy:
Italy's shoreline so long overgrown with moist reeds, elevations
Somberly rising to shades cast by the bushes and trees.
Nations enlivening hills teeming with fortunate thieves.
All earth's remaining orb scarcely was worthy of note.
And from those ruins yet arise world again greater, perhaps.
O may I long by your light now behold this Rome. May the Parcæ
Spin the fine thread of my life slowly, taking great care.
O but come rushing the moment my love designated so sweetly.
Thus, my dear muses, again you've beguiled the monotony for me.
Of this long interval while I was apart from my love.
All of you now, farewell! I'll be going now--don't be offended.
As I had promised I would, long I awaited you there.
Stealthily I slipped away." --Alas, what a misapprehension!
You saw the scarecrow, that's all. Nothing else drove you away.
Reeds and some discarded garments all hastily cobbled together--
I helped to make it myself: diligent in my own grief.
Left on this day unscathed nice little garden and niece."
While there is many an unpleasant sound, I hate to hear barking
Worse than anything else. Bellowing dogs split my ears.
Nevertheless I do like to hear, and take pleasure in listening
To the loud howl of the dog raised from a pup next door.
That is the dog that so bayed one time at my girl that he almost
Gave our secret away (when she was visiting me).
Now, when I hear the dog barking I think my beloved is coming--
Or I remember the time, when long awaited she came.
I can tell not only about a discomfort far greater than others,
But of a horror besides, thinking of which will arouse
Every fiber in me to revulsion. My friends, I confess it:
Great displeasure I take lying alone in my bed.
But it's a horror to fear on the pathways of love you'll discover
Snakes and their venom beneath roses of eager desire--
Right at my head as it droops, hissing disease may approach.
That's why Faustina as my companion in bed makes me happy:
Loving she always remains faithful, as I am to her.
I prefer to go slow, savoring pleasures secure.
Is it not bliss to exchange tender kisses containing no dangers,
Sucking into our lungs, carefree, our partner's own life?
Morning begins to dawn, we expect from these hours approaching
Blossoms that will adorn festive the coming new day.
First and the last, be vouchsafed all of mankind by the god.
Ah, to uphold one's respectable name is not easy. The Lady
Fame has an ancient foe: Cupid, my master and lord.
It's an old story, I think--Let me just tell it again.
Powerful ever the goddess, but nevertheless to her fellows
Overbearing and rude, quite unendurable. She
Yelling with brassiest voice orders to great and to small.
Once, in her arrogance even maintained that she had subjected
To her own will, as her slave, Jove's most illustrious son.
"One of these days, O father of deities," cried she in triumph,
"I shall be bringing you my--Hercules, as if new born.
His adulation of me makes him now god upon earth.
Piously toward your knees. Hardly. He's looking for me.
Worthiest man! O the vision of winning my favor makes easy
Hitherto unexplored paths, under that powerful foot.
I do my part, for I meet him halfway and proclaim his adventures
Praising his name in advance, even before he's begun.
One day you'll wed me to Hercules.  Hero who Amazons conquered
That day will overwhelm me. Happily I'll call him:  spouse."
Lest in a pique she devise vengeance against one of them.
Artlessly conquering by--force of a beautiful girl,
Afterward decked out his couple in mute masquerade:  lionskin
Over her shoulders, the club leaned (by much toil) at her side;
Wiry stiff hair of the hero larded with blossoms, a distaff
Laid in his fist, to conform strength to the dalliance of love.
For all Olympus to hear: "Come, see these glorious deeds!
Heaven and Earth and the Sun on his indefatigable journey
Over that infinite path never did witness the like!"
Everyone hastened, gulled by the dissolute boy, who feigning
Earnest, had summoned them all (Fame by no means lagged behind).
Which of the gods will now smile in sweet condescension on Cupid?
--Juno! delighted, of course, seeing a man humbled so.
I know my hero too well to be fooled by disguises of actors."
Soon, though, in pain she perceived: Hercules, none but he.
Under his meshes ensnared, caught with his own lusty friend,
Lying just as the wiles of the net at the most crucial moment
Deftly embraced their embrace, trapping their instant of joy.
Sweet must be the repose, lying on bosom so fine
Of this magnificent woman. They turned to Vulcan entreating:
"Do not release them just yet. Let us inspect them once more."
As for poor Fame, in all haste, burning with wrath she must flee.
Let her but favor a man, hot in pursuit is the boy.
He whom Fame honors most can least defend against Cupid,
And her most dang'rous attacks strike the most morally proud.
Yes, he will offer you girls--if like a fool you despise
Heat of man's love for man, ardent desires toward beasts.
For those ashamed of him Cupid reserves the bitterest passions,
Mingling for hypocrites their pleasure in vice and remorse.
Should find him with you, ill disposed will she be:
Into the worst of repute houses he's known to frequent.
Jealously she seeks me out, sweet secret love to expose.
I will submit to the ancient law and in silence revere her,
For, when great lords fall out, I like the Greeks must atone.
However comely be strength, or free and undaunted comportment,
Secrecy is for a man most important of all.
Mighty subduer of cities, Discretion, O princess of nations,
Goddess whom I adore, safely you've led me thus far.
--Cupid, the scamp--opens lips hitherto sealed so well.
Difficult is it, alas, to conceal the shame of a monarch;
Hide it can neither his crown, nor a tight Phrygian cap:
Midas has asses ears! the first servant discovers--O horror!
Shame of this secret so weighs, Midas unburdens his heart.
Into the earth for safekeeping the servant must bury the story,
Easing in this way the king:  earth must conceal the tale.
Reeds in a trice are sprouting and rustling in murmuring breezes:
"Midas, o Midas the King--bears the ears of an ass!"
Mine is a secret more pleasant, but even more difficult keeping:
Out of abundance of heart eagerly speaketh my mouth.
Nor any gentleman friend, lest he be rival to me.
Rapture proclaim to the grove, to the echoing cliffs perorate it?
One can do that if one's young, or if one's lonely enough.
I to hexameters tell, in pentameters I will confide it:
During the day she was joy, happiness all the night long.
Courted by so many suitors, avoided the snares that were set her
Now by one bolder than I, now by another in guile,
Comes to her lover's embrace, where he so eagerly waits.
Breezes, rustle the leaves: muffle the sound of her feet.
And as for you, little poems, o grow and flower, your blossoms
One happy couple in love, and their sweet secret, at last.
I in the back of the garden, the last of the gods, in a corner,
Ineptly formed, must I stand. Evil the inroads of time.
Cucumber vines grow entwining about this primeval lingam,
Cracking it almost in two under the weight of the fruit.
Which I so hate for the crows settling then down on my head,
Empty their bowels and show insolent, naked behinds.
Filth, above and below! I was clearly in danger of turning
Into filth myself, toadstool, rotten wood!
Now, by your efforts, O noblest of artists, I shall recover
With fellow gods my just place. And it's no more than my due.
Jupiter's throne, so dishonestly won, it was I who secured it:
Color and ivory, marble and bronze, not to mention the poems.
Now, all intelligent men look upon me in kindness. They like to
Form their own image of me, just as the poet has done.
None finds me ugly today, though I am monstrously strong.
Half a foot long, as reward, your glorious rod (dear poet)
Artful positions the great poet Philainis describes.
_Professor Worthy's Page_
For now, it is enough to say that among Schiller's examples for