Welcome to my Courtyard. Please sit, have some wine, fruit, and cheese and enjoy the view and fresh air!

We shall read poetry into the night. I have discovered one particularly fatalistic poem written by Sappho. I hope that you enjoy it.

Pursue the violet-laden Muses’ handsome gifts,
my children, and the loud-voiced lyre so dear to song;
But me — my skin which once was soft is withered now
by age, my hair has turned to white which once was black,
my heart has been weighed down, my knees give no support
which once were nimble in the dance like little fawns.

How often I lament these things. But what to do?
No being that is human can escape old age.
For people used to think that Dawn with rosy arms
and loving murmurs took Tithonus fine and young
to reach the edges of the earth; yet still grey age
in time did seize him, though his consort cannot die.

~ Sappho