Cavafy's In the Evening

Experience tells me
it wouldn't have lasted long.
The stronger the light
the sooner it's spent.
And anyway the hand of fate
soon stalled it.

While it lasted it was good.
It had the scent of summer roses
in pure mountain air
where we lay on fresh green leaves
body to body.

An echo from those peaks
came whispering back
across the granite rockfalls
of the past -- a letter
full of the passion of those mornings.
I read it and re-read it
as the slow light faded.

I went out onto the balcony
to seek some alteration
of these long sad thoughts
by gazing at the movement of my city --
footfalls on the evening streets;
the stir of the lighted shops.

~Constantine Cavafy~
Poem Source

More Cavafy poems here. Cavafy always puts me in in mind of Lawrence Durrell. Not because their styles are similar but because of the presence of Alexandria in their work-Durrell also did his bit to popularise the poet in the English speaking world. Durrell's ripe and lush prose, not to speak of a tinge of colonialism, is out of favour these days (I must admit I never went beyond Justine) and therefore his reputation is ready for a resurrection. Why did I read Justine? Because Indians must be the last breed out there reading English literature written in the first half or so of the twentieth century, principally because a lot of it was available in India.