Classic Poem

Bind your straight hair,
Thessalian,
For the winds pursue you
And the leaves.

The lake breeze would have you for a wrestler,
It would dust you with sand in the marshes,
Wash sedges and lilies to your feet;

Test your shoulders,
Whether they or the rushes were more supple,
Whether they or the larches were more sweet.

Bind back your hair,
Thessalian,
The fists of the wind are clenched.