by Constantine P. Cavafy
Looking at an opal, a half-grey opal,
I remembered two beautiful grey eyes
I had seen it must have been twenty years before . . .
For a month we loved each other
Then he went away, I think to Smyrna,
To work there; we never saw each other again.
The grey eyes -- if he lives -- have lost their beauty;
The beautiful face will have been spoiled.
O Memory, preserve them as they were.
And, Memory, all you can of this love of mine
Whatever you can bring back to me tonight.
Last updated January 14, 2019