Love
Book XII, 102
Translated by W. R. Paton (1916–18) · From The Greek Anthology (Loeb, vol. IV, 1918)
Love
The huntsman on the hills, Epicydes, tracks every hare and the slot of every hind through the frost and snow. But if one say to him, “ Look, here is a beast lying wounded,” he will not take it. And even so is my love; it is wont to pursue the fleeing game, but flies past what lies in its path.
This translation is printed as prose in its source edition.
Cite this poem
MLA
Callimachus. “Book XII, 102.” Translated by W. R. Paton. Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/callimachus/57/.
Chicago
Callimachus. “Book XII, 102.” Translated by W. R. Paton. Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/callimachus/57/.
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