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(for: Homer, the Greek Master)

Now, do you sit on these Grecian rubbles,
O, desert god of old Greek ruins!
Didst thou across this earth match
O, Homerus! the gods’ bright eye,
On whom many a mad mortal dares to spit?

Nature is joyed of your simple lute
Isn’t that good which you spoke?
Those gods in human passions,
Tho’ matching superhumanly,
Did breed real pathos and sublimity of existence.

Many a mortal contested your existence;
Let them contest of my songs;
You should only exist in songs?
Then, Athens was a tale –
You should be living now, O, Homerus!

The forest buds and grows in bitterness;
Seas weep for lack of adventures;
Lands are devoid of demigods;
Nights wail for your demise,
When a fading world fights in peace!

The mediocre is a crown prince;
The sick clays pose as perfect potters;
The fish now eat up the giant sea;
Do you rest, O deserted god?
Do you rest, Homerus, singer for the gods?

3

I have began the long songs, my Homerus
Ere, I stumbled at your shrine:
Yet, I ’gree you sang so well:
Yours are true cosmic scenes!
On the air, each bird sings your songs;

Tho’ young night wails for your demise;
Tho’ gone are those fable-eyed seas;
Earth is reborn of adventures,
In my wild cosmic songs –
Then, rest, rest, rest, who told lofty tales!

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