On this wine bowl          of pure silver—
destined for the home          of Heracleides,
where discerning taste          and elegance reside—
I've engraved flowers,          streams and thyme,
and in their midst          a handsome youth,
naked and erotic,          dangling his leg
in the water still.          I prayed, memory,
that I'd find in you          an ally strong enough to render
the face of this youth,          whom I loved, just as it once was.
It will not be easy,          as it has been
some fifteen years          from the day he fell,
a soldier,          in the battle of Magnesia.