SICKNESS AND ABSENCE


Am I abandoned? Does Messala sweep
Yon wide Aegean wave, not any more
He, nor my mates, remembering where I weep,
Struck down by fever on this alien shore?

Spare me, dark death! I have no mother here,
To clasp my relics to her widowed breast;
No sister, to pour forth with hallowing tear
Assyrian incense where my ashes rest.

Nor Delia, who, before she said adieu,
Asked omens fair at every potent shrine.
Thrice did the ministrants give blessings true,
The thrice-cast lot returned the lucky sign.

All promised safe return; but she had fears
And doubting sorrows, which implored my stay;
While I, though all was ready, dried her tears,
And found fresh pretext for one more delay.

An evil bird, I cried, did near me flit,
Or luckless portent thrust my plans aside;
Or Saturn's day, unhallowed and unfit,
Forbade a journey from my Delia's side.

Full oft, when starting on the fatal track,
My stumbling feet foretold unhappy hours: