Poem of the Week (month, season, year...): Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae
Non sum qualis eram -- I am not what I was.
I felt this so strongly last night, on a long-anticipated date. I'd been flirting with the man for years, but I am no longer flirtatious. Witty sayings do not come easily. A simple question unexpectedly brings tears. For the first time, I truly feel that I am over 50.
"Non sum qualis eram", I thought to myself, moving awkwardly and self-consciously in a strange kitchen, trying to make us coffee. The movie had been excellent; nevertheless, I could think of nothing to say about it. I made an effort to be funny and charming, knowing, as I did it, that flinging roses helps only momentarily.
I am not what I was when I was with Woof. The work now is to discover what I have left within me, and to make the most of it.
Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae
-- by Ernest Dowson
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was grey:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind,
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I felt this so strongly last night, on a long-anticipated date. I'd been flirting with the man for years, but I am no longer flirtatious. Witty sayings do not come easily. A simple question unexpectedly brings tears. For the first time, I truly feel that I am over 50.
"Non sum qualis eram", I thought to myself, moving awkwardly and self-consciously in a strange kitchen, trying to make us coffee. The movie had been excellent; nevertheless, I could think of nothing to say about it. I made an effort to be funny and charming, knowing, as I did it, that flinging roses helps only momentarily.
I am not what I was when I was with Woof. The work now is to discover what I have left within me, and to make the most of it.
Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae
-- by Ernest Dowson
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was grey:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind,
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.