Poem by Dionysios Solomos

MEMORY

Stop the melodious chords

of the guitar.  

They remind me of my youth

and grieving heart,

my youth that passed

so fast before me

and left behind

not one consoling thought.

The traitor only left

a wretched meditation

that expertly foretells 

the hour of my death.

Here is the eye that craves

to see the sun again,

here the mouth that yearns

to take its final breath.
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