“[You for] the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts[be zealous,] girls, [and the] clear melodious lyre:[but my once tender] body old age now[has seized;] my hair’s turned [white] instead of dark;my heart’s grown heavy, my knees will not support me,that once on a time were fleet for the dance as fawns.This state I oft bemoan; but what’s to do?Not to grow old, being human, there’s no way.Tithonus once, the tale was, rose-armed Dawn,love-smitten, carried off to the world’s end,handsome and young then, yet in time grey ageo’ertook him, husband of immortal wife.”

“Live for the gifts the fragrant-breasted Musessend, for the clear, the singing, lyre, my children.Old age freezes my body, once so lithe,rinses the darkness from my hair, now white.My heart’s heavy, my knees no longer keep meup through the dance they used to prance like fawns in.Oh, I grumble about it, but for what?Nothing can stop a person’s growing old.They say that Tithonus was swept awayin Dawn’s passionate, rose-flushed arms to liveforever, but he lost his looks, his youth,failing husband of an immortal bride.”

“Girls, be good to these spirits of music and poetrythat breast your threshold with their scented gifts.Lift the lyre, clear and sweet, they leave with you.As for me, this body is now so arthriticI cannot play, hardly even hold the instrument.Can you believe my white hair was once black?And oh, the soul grows heavy with the body.Complaining knee-joints creak at every move.To think I danced as delicate as a deer!Some gloomy poems came from these thoughts:useless: we are all born to lose life,and what is worse, girls, to lose youth.The legend of the goddess of the dawnI’m sure you know: how rosy Eosmadly in love with gorgeous young Tithonusswept him like booty to her hiding-placebut then forgot he would grow old and greywhile she in despair pursued her immortal way.”

“It would be dreadfullyironic, I mused, if once I earned a soul, I forgot everything about being fey, including all my memories of her. That sort of ending seemedappropriately tragic; the smitten fey creature becomes human but forgets why he wanted to in the first place. Old fairy tales loved that sort of irony.”

“I weave the papers through the branches, in a long loop. Up and down, my knees bending. My arms above my head, like the girls I saw once in a painting in a cave. There is a rhythm to this, a keeping of time. I wonder if I'm dancing.”

“The wondrous moment of our meeting... Still I remember you appear Before me like a vision fleeting, A beauty's angel pure and clear. In hopeless ennui surrounding The worldly bustle, to my ear For long your tender voice kept sounding, For long in dreams came features dear. Time passed. Unruly storms confounded Old dreams, and I from year to year Forgot how tender you had sounded, Your heavenly features once so dear. My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet -- Dull fence around, dark vault above -- Devoid of God and uninspired, Devoid of tears, of fire, of love. Sleep from my soul began retreating, And here you once again appear Before me like a vision fleeting, A beauty's angel pure and clear. In ecstasy my heart is beating, Old joys for it anew revive; Inspired and God-filled, it is greeting The fire, and tears, and love alive.”