XXIX. Ad Anthimium diaconum
To Anthimius the Deacon
Accept these verses, Anthimius, as a pledge from one who loves you — poured out from a sincere heart.
When gentle sleep held your eyes and your tired limbs lay on the bed, I hesitated, unwilling to trouble your rest. My fault, then, will be the reason for your sleep. I departed silently, like a thief — with no one to witness it — and I did not say to you as I embraced you: dear brother, farewell. I was not allowed to entrust my thoughts to a heart so dear, nor did an hour, even one, hold me for your words.
I call God to witness that it weighs heavily on me to leave this way, without bringing back what you have said. But to one whom I could have said so much to when I was present, let this sent page now speak in a few words instead.
I ask this of you before God, as the gift I want you to give me: be dear to everyone always, shine everywhere in love. Let no one give me clothing, let no one give me money — what affection urges, let no one deny me that.
XXIX
Ad Anthimium diaconum
Suscipe versiculos, Anthimi, pignus amantis ,
quos tibi sincero pectore fudit amor.
cum tua blanditus retineret lumina somnus
lassaque fecisset membra iacere toro,
dum dubito, pecco nolens vexare quietum:
sic mea culpa tui causa soporis erit.
discedo tacitus, veluti fur, indice nullo,
nec dixi amplectens: frater amate, vale.
non licuit mandata animo committere caro
nec tenuit verbis hora vel una tuis.
testificor dominum mihi fortiter esse molestum,
quod sic abscedo nec tua dicta fero.
sed cui plura volens poteram tunc dicere praesens,
nunc faciat paucis pagina missa loqui.
haec tamen ante deum rogo te mihi munera praestes:
omnibus ut semper, carus ubique mices;
nemo mihi vestem, denaria nemo ministret :
quod dulcedo monet, hoc mihi nemo neget.
◆
XXIX. Ad Anthimium diaconum To Anthimius the Deacon
Accept these verses, Anthimius, as a pledge from one who loves you — poured out from a sincere heart.
When gentle sleep held your eyes and your tired limbs lay on the bed, I hesitated, unwilling to trouble your rest. My fault, then, will be the reason for your sleep. I departed silently, like a thief — with no one to witness it — and I did not say to you as I embraced you: dear brother, farewell. I was not allowed to entrust my thoughts to a heart so dear, nor did an hour, even one, hold me for your words.
I call God to witness that it weighs heavily on me to leave this way, without bringing back what you have said. But to one whom I could have said so much to when I was present, let this sent page now speak in a few words instead.
I ask this of you before God, as the gift I want you to give me: be dear to everyone always, shine everywhere in love. Let no one give me clothing, let no one give me money — what affection urges, let no one deny me that.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.