So,
Calchas, on the sacred Palatine,
You thought of Mopsus, and o'er wastes of sea A flower brought your message.
I divine (Through my deep art) the kindly mockery That played about your lips and in your eyes,
Plucking the frail leaf, while you dreamed of home.
Thanks for the silent greeting!
I shall prize,
Beyond June's rose, the scentless flower of Rome.
All the Campagna spreads before my sight,
The mouldering wall, the Caesars' tombs unwreathed,
Rome and the Tiber, and the yellow light,
Wherein the honey-colored blossom breathed.
But most I thank it—egoists that we be!
For proving then and there you thought of me.
