Concerning the deceptive brevity of life
Less swiftly did the arrow seek
its destined mark, which it so sharply pierced;
the racing chariot on voiceless sand
did not a column with more silence round,
than swiftly runs, and surreptitiously
to its end our life. For him who doubts,
even if it's a brute of reason stripped,
every new sun a comet's warning sounds.
Carthage confesses this, yet you don't see?
You are in danger, Lycius, if you persist
in chasing shadows, grasping at a straw.
You will not soon be pardoned by the hours:
hours that erode the fabric of our days,
days that our years inevitably gnaw.
Translated by Alix Ingber
(1623)
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