|Because we have broken up their images,
because we have expelled them from their fanes,
in no wise are they dead for that — the gods.
Land of Ionia, it is you they love
still — you whose memories still delight their souls.
When over you an August morning dawns,
some throb from their vitality vibrates
your atmosphere; and sometimes in the glimmer
a heavenly youthful figure, undefined,
passes with nimble step upon your hills.
|Translated by John Cavafy|
|(Poems by C. P. Cavafy. Translated, from the Greek, by J. C. Cavafy. Ikaros, 2003) |
|- Original Greek Poem
|- Translation by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard|