| Then delicately in thick robe I sprang |
|
|
| This is the dust of Timas |
|
|
| To you, fair maids, my mind changes not |
|
|
| And dark-eyed Sleep, child of Night |
|
|
| A Maiden full tender plucking flowers |
|
|
| Me just not the golden-sandalled Dawn |
|
|
| Sappho, why blissful Aphrodite? |
|
|
| Of all stars the fairest |
|
|
| Shot with a thousand hues |
|
|
| Ah for Adonis! |
|
|