translated by dan beachy-quick XLIV The stranger had a wound he couldn’t see—you knew him by his breast’s troubled breath. When he drankhis third cup he knew himself again: those roses he wore as a crown shed all their petals on the ground.Someone scorched him badly. I swear, gods, the image I sing dances true: …
translated by dan beachy-quick Fragment 89 They are sleeping, mountain-heads, headlands, and the gullies too—the fallen leaves and the tribe of slow-footed creatures the dark earth grows—beasts of prey mountain-bred and brood of wild bees and the brutemonsters deep in the deep purple seas:and that flock of omen-giving birds long-winged, they are sleeping too.