In the absence of her eyes
Gone is all the power of love.
--Aeschylus, Agammemnon 418-419
ὀμμάτον δʼἐν ἀχηνίαις
ἔρρει πᾶςʼ ʼΑφροδίτα.
Why now that I am healthy
is our love a desert sand --
dry, featureless land,
all drained of the sap of eros?
Was the foundation of our relation
a certain dependency?
Or is it just that we cannot see
nor experience the reality
of the love I sing?
Of our love I cry,
and I cry:
ὀμμάτον δʼἐν ἀχηνίαις
ἔρρει πᾶςʼ ʼΑφροδίτα.