De Rerum Natura
Lucretius
Lucretius. De Rerum Natura. William Ellery Leonard. E. P. Dutton. 1916.
- A pool of water of but a finger's depth,
- Which lies between the stones along the pave,
- Offers a vision downward into earth
- As far, as from the earth o'erspread on high
- The gulfs of heaven; that thus thou seemest to view
- Clouds down below and heavenly bodies plunged
- Wondrously in heaven under earth.
- Then too, when in the middle of the stream
- Sticks fast our dashing horse, and down we gaze
- Into the river's rapid waves, some force
- Seems then to bear the body of the horse,
- Though standing still, reversely from his course,
- And swiftly push up-stream. And wheresoe'er
- We cast our eyes across, all objects seem
- Thus to be onward borne and flow along
- In the same way as we. A portico,
- Albeit it stands well propped from end to end
- On equal columns, parallel and big,
- Contracts by stages in a narrow cone,
- When from one end the long, long whole is seen,-
- Until, conjoining ceiling with the floor,
- And the whole right side with the left, it draws
- Together to a cone's nigh-viewless point.
- To sailors on the main the sun he seems
- From out the waves to rise, and in the waves
- To set and bury his light- because indeed
- They gaze on naught but water and the sky.
- Again, to gazers ignorant of the sea,
- Vessels in port seem, as with broken poops,
- To lean upon the water, quite agog;
- For any portion of the oars that's raised
- Above the briny spray is straight, and straight
- The rudders from above. But other parts,
- Those sunk, immersed below the water-line,
- Seem broken all and bended and inclined
- Sloping to upwards, and turned back to float
- Almost atop the water. And when the winds
- Carry the scattered drifts along the sky
- In the night-time, then seem to glide along
- The radiant constellations 'gainst the clouds
- And there on high to take far other course
- From that whereon in truth they're borne. And then,
- If haply our hand be set beneath one eye
- And press below thereon, then to our gaze
- Each object which we gaze on seems to be,
- By some sensation twain- then twain the lights
- Of lampions burgeoning in flowers of flame,
- And twain the furniture in all the house,
- Two-fold the visages of fellow-men,
- And twain their bodies. And again, when sleep
- Has bound our members down in slumber soft
- And all the body lies in deep repose,
- Yet then we seem to self to be awake
- And move our members; and in night's blind gloom
- We think to mark the daylight and the sun;
- And, shut within a room, yet still we seem
- To change our skies, our oceans, rivers, hills,
- To cross the plains afoot, and hear new sounds,
- Though still the austere silence of the night
- Abides around us, and to speak replies,
- Though voiceless. Other cases of the sort
- Wondrously many do we see, which all
- Seek, so to say, to injure faith in sense-
- In vain, because the largest part of these
- Deceives through mere opinions of the mind,
- Which we do add ourselves, feigning to see
- What by the senses are not seen at all.
- For naught is harder than to separate
- Plain facts from dubious, which the mind forthwith
- Adds by itself.