Loved, idealized voices
of those who have died, or of those
lost for us like the dead.
Sometimes they speak to us in dreams;
sometimes deep in thought the mind hears them.
And, with their sound, for a moment return
sounds from our life’s first poetry —
like distant music fading away at night.
Constantine P. Cavafy, Voices, 1889, Trans. Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard
1 year ago on September 16, 2011 at 11:02pm