To Cyrus, on a Gift of Wine from Lesbos

I had heard of the island of Lesbos and its cities, Mytilene, Methymna and the rest, but I knew nothing of the wine grown there. Now, thanks to your care, I have come to know it, and I admire both its whiteness and the delicacy of its flavor. Perhaps time may even improve it, unless it turns it sour; for wine, like the body, and plants, and buildings, and other things made by hand, is damaged by time. If, as you say, it makes the one who drinks it live long, I am afraid it will be of little use to me. I have no desire to live a long life, when life’s storms are so many and so hard. [a] I was very glad, though, to hear that the monk is well. My anxiety about him was truly distressing, and I wrongly blamed the doctors, for his illness needed the treatment they gave. I have sent you a little pot of honey, which the Cilician bees make from storax flowers. [b]