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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required If I am Syrian, what of it? Stranger, we all dwell in one world, not its portals. The same original Chaos gave birth to all mortals. —Meleager translation by Michael R. Burch Love, how can I call on you; does Desire dwell with the dead? Cupid, that bold boy, never bowed his head to wail. —Meleager translation by Michael R. Burch Cupid, I swear, your quiver holds only empty air, for all your winged arrows, set free, are now lodged in me. —Meleager translation by Michael R. Burch Love, if you incinerate my soul, touché! For she too has wings and can fly away! —Meleager translation by Michael R. Burch Cupid, the cuddly baby safe in his mother's lap, chucking the dice one day gambled my soul away. —Meleager translation by Michael R. Burch I lie defeated. Set your foot on my neck. Checkmate. I recognize you by your weight; yes, and by the gods, you’re a load to bear. I am also well aware of your fiery darts. But if you seek to ignite human hearts, Shove off with your tinders; mine’s already in cinders. —Meleager translation by Michael R. Burch When I see Theron everything’s revealed. When he’s gone all’s concealed. —Meleager translation by Michael R. Burch Mother-Earth, to all men dear, Aesigenes was never a burden to you, so please rest lightly on him here. —Meleager translation by Michael R. Burch Meleager dedicates this lamp to you, dear Cypris, as a plaything, since it has been initiated into the mysteries of your nocturnal ceremonies. —Meleager translation by Michael R. Burch I know you lied, because these ringlets still dripping scented essences betray your wantonness. These also betray you— your sleepless eyes sagging, stray tendrils of your unchaste hair escaping its garlands, your limbs uncoordinated by the wine. Away, trollop, they summon you— the reveling lyre and the clattering castanets rattled by lewd fingers! —Meleager transl. by M.R. Burch Moon and Stars lighting the way for lovers and Night and you, my mournful Mandolin, my bosom companion ... when will we see her, the little wanton one, lying awake and moaning to her lamp? —Meleager transl. by M.R. Burch Tears, the last gifts of my love, I send drenching down to you, Heliodora. Here on your puddling tomb I pour them out ... —Meleager transl. by M.R. Burch Silence! They must have carried her off! Who could be so barbaric to wage war against Love himself? Quick, prepare the torches! But wait! A footfall, Heliodora's! Get back in my bosom, heart! —Meleager transl. by M.R. Burch
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