And cease from wanderings, 65 How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, With half-shut eyes ever to seem Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy Falling asleep in a half-dream! balm; 100 Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, And dear the last embraces of our wives And their warm tears. fered change; 115 Through many a woven acanthus-wreath divine! Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine Only to hear were sweet, stretched out beneath the pine. VIII But all hath suf- The lotos blooms below the barren For surely now our household hearths are cold, inherit us, sons Our strange, our looks are ing |