Cynara

Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno cynarae

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,   Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat, Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay; Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet; But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,   When I awoke and found the dawn was gray: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind, Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind; But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,   Yea, all the time, because the dance was long: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine, But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire, Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine; And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,   Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

Ernest Dowson

A, Cynara, hesterna nocte inter labra puellae   nostraque labra cadit corporis umbra tui; inspirasque animae per vina, per oscula nostrae:   tum doleo maestus deicioque caput. tum doleo maestus priscoque aegrotus amore:   a, Cynara, a fidus sum tibi more meo. calfacit illius pectus mea pectora pernox,   pernox in gremio dormit amata meo. empta placent oris suavissima savia rubri,   sed somno pulso pallidus ortus adest; et doleo maestus priscoque aegrotus amore:   a, Cynara, a fidus sum tibi more meo. a, Cynara, oblitus tot res cum flamine fugi,   sparsi cum turba turbidus usque rosas, perdita conabar tua candida lilia longis   infelix choreis mente fugare mea; sed dolui maestus priscoque aegrotus amore:   a, Cynara, a fidus sum tibi more meo. tum mage fortia vina, magis furibunda vocabam   carmina; finitis denique sed dapibus, cum lychni languent, Cynarae cadit umbra cupitae   et nox tota tua est et tua labra aveo. tum doleo maestus priscoque aegrotus amore :   a, Cynara, a fidus sum tibi more meo.