Τίς δὲ βὶος, τί δὲ τερπνὸν ἄτερ χρυσέης Ἀφροδίτης;
τεθναίην, ὅτε μοὶ μηχέτι ταῦτα μέλοι,
χρυπταδίη φιλότης καὶ μείλιχα δῶρα καὶ εὐνή.
ἄνθεα τῆς ἥβης γίγνεται ἁρπαλέα
ἀνδράσιν ἠδὲ γυναιξίν· ἐπὴν δ’ ὀδυνηρὸν ἐπέλθῃ
γῆρας, ὅ τ’ αἰσχρὸν ὁμῶς καὶ καλὸν ἄνδρα τιθεῖ.
αἰεὶ μὲν φρένας ἀμφὶ κακαὶ τείρουσι μέριμναι,
οὐδ’ αὐγας προσορῶν τέρπεται ἠελίου,
ἀλλ’ ἐχθρὸς μὲν παισίν, ἀτίμαστος δὲ γυναιξίν.
οὕτως ἀργαλέον γῆρας ἔθηκε θεός.

Mimnermus (c. 625 BCE), first fragment

What life or delight exists without love?
Let me die when I’ve no more interest
in quiet trysts, tender gifts or the marriage bed.
These are the alluring blossom of youth
for men and women, but when arduous age approaches,
which makes a man ugly and useless,
awful anxieties wear always on his mind:
he takes no delight in sunlight;
he’s abhorred by children; by women, scorned.
How grievous a thing has god made old age.

2010/01/21