Towards democracy

7 Piilolaus to Diocles 413

Of the splintered trees, the blood-smeared corpses, the devilish noises and the sights and smells,

Or of the livid face and faint-blue lips of him I loved as never another I could love.

O how can you grow so careless, little flowers, and yet continue ages to grow under the trees the same—

And all the light gone out of the world for me?

Each year when summer comes and July suns,

To the woods I must go like one drawn by a fatal dread and fascination,

To see the sight I most abhor to see—

The patch of blood, and the unharmed flower in the midst,

And faint in death the lips I love so well.

PHILOLAUS TO DIOCLES

OW often at dusk, dear friend, when thou art absent, Sitting alone I wonder of what thou doest, And dream, and wait of thee.

All the sweet noons and moons we haye spent together ;

All the glad interchange of laughter and love,

And thoughts, so grave, or fanciful:

What can compare with these, or what surpass them?

All the unbroken faith and steadfast reliance—nigh twenty years twining the roots of life far down;

And not a mistrustful hour between us—or moment of

anger :