"In the Peristyle," John William Waterhouse, 1874, Wikepedia photo.
“In the Peristyle,” John William Waterhouse, 1874, Wikepedia photo.

Be not envious of my life, wheat fields and
Flowing brooks, sun shaded by partly clouded
Skies, wind-soft breezes felt upon my face.
I walk verdant pasturelands without worries
Or slightest cares, amongst temple ruins, I
Know not where, they seem familiar, days
When they and I were not in ruined disrepair.
 

By perforce of nature, twisted fate, I neither
Suffer nor feel ills of feverish plagues that
Swept through me, Athens, my city-home.
I recall hundred buried bodies, no time for
Crocus flowers, my body draped, head to
Slender feet, I was a child, who prayed to
Demeter, blessings for safety, family keeping.
 

Fillets in my hair, I ran and romped in sweet
meadows just like these, same groves of olive
Trees. What draft was I given to drink? Lost
Full measure of my youth, I reach for Demeter
Divine, past healing, needless shade drifting
Upon airy heights. In death, the goddess
Raises me to her heavenly light.

Written in spirit of the Homeric Hymns to Demeter,
Goddess of the golden sword and glorious fruit, her
Steps upon wide-pathed earth.

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