Τῶν Ἑλλήνων τὴν πατρίδα
βάρβαροι τὴν ἀτιμάζουν!
Ὅπου ἀνθοπετοῦσαν οἱ Ἔρωτες
παραδέρνει ἡ νυχτερίδα.
Στὴ νυχτιά μας μιὰ πυγολαμπίδα,
τῶν ἀρχαίων ἡ μνήμη, ψευτοφέγγει
κ᾿ εἶναι μιὰ νυχτιὰ ποὺ δὲν τὴ διώχνεις,
τοῦ παντοτινοῦ μας ἥλιου ἀχτίδα!
Καὶ πατρίδα καὶ ψυχὴ ρουφᾶν
βάρβαροι ἀπὸ βάθη καὶ ἀπὸ ὕψη.
Κι ὅταν, μ᾿ ἕνα τρίσβαθο ὤχ!
τῶν Ἑλλήνων θεέ, ρωτοῦμε σέ:
«Εἶσ᾿ ἐσὺ ὁ ξανθὸς Ἀπόλλωνας;»
Ἀποκρίνεσαι:-«Εἶμ᾿ ἐγὼ ὁ Μολώχ!»
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
Συχνα εχω τουτο το παραξενο και διαπεραστικο
ονειρο μιας γυναικας αγνωστης
που αγαπω και μ'αγαπα
Here where the roses blossom, where vines round the laurels are twining,
Where the turtle-dove calls, where the blithe cricket is heard,
Say, whose grave can this be, with life by all the Immortals
Beauteously planted and deck'd?--Here doth Anacreon sleep
Spring and summer and autumn rejoiced the thrice-happy minstrel,
And from the winter this mound kindly hath screen'd him at last.
