«True, in our corruption we possess
beauties unrevealed to ancient times:
countenances cankered by the heart
and, so to speak, the charm of listlessness;
but subtle though they are, such artifacts
of a belated muse will never keep
our sickly race from offering to youth
its truest homage; youth we worship still,
its frank expression, its untroubled brow,
its eyes as bright as water; sacred youth
that shares—unconscious as a singing bird,
a flower, or the blue sky’s radiance—
its song, its scent, its irresistible warmth!
— from “I prize the memory of naked ages...”
(Richard Howard, Tr.)»
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