Towards democracy

Philolaus to Diocles 415

IIl. Thou art so beautiful to me, sweet friend, Years bring no shadow between us; Always I praise the very ground beneath thy feet, That leads thee toward me, And give my unbelieving hands free leave to hold thee, For still to assure myself that thou art there Is my first need.

Loye, that entwined our souls before all worlds, Binds the great orbs of heaven too in their courses, But by no bond more lasting.

IV. And sweeter far to suffer is it, dear one, being sometimes absent, Than (if indeed ’twere possible) to feel the opposite pain Of too much nearness, and love dying so Down to mere slackness.

Now, as it is, the harp is firmly strung ;

A tender tension animates the strings ;

And every thought of Thee, and all the winds which blow along the world,

Wake a sweet accord underneath the din,

And harmonize life’s wilderness for me.