Words

Although they are

only breath, words

which I command

are immortal

Sounds Of Grief

Must I remind you, Cleis,

that sounds of grief

are unbecoming in

a poet's household?

and that they are not

suitable in ours?

With his venom

With his venom

Irresistible

and bittersweet

that loosener

of limbs, Love

reptile-like

strikes me down

Blame Aphrodite

It's no use

Mother dear, I

can't finish my

weaving

You may

blame Aphrodite

soft as she is

she has almost

killed me with

love for that boy

And their feet move

And their feet move

rhythmically, as tender

feet of Cretan girls

danced once around an

altar of love, crushing

a circle in the soft

smooth flowering grass

The Dust Of Timas

This dust was Timas; and they say

That almost on her wedding day

She found her bridal home to be

The dark house of Persephone.

And many maidens, knowing then

That she would not come back again,

Unbound their curls; and all in tears,

They cut them off with sharpened shears.

Wedding Song

Workmen lift high

The beams of the roof,

Hymenaeus!

Like Ares from sky

Comes the groom to the bride,

Hymenaeus!

Than men who must die

Stands he taller in pride,

Hymenaeus!

Yea, Thou Shalt Die

Yea, thou shalt die,

And lie

Dumb in the silent tomb;

Nor to thy name

Shall there be any fame

In ages yet to be or years to come:

For of the flowering Rose,

Which on Pieria blows,

Thou hast no share:

But in sad Hades' house,

Unknown, inglorious,

'Mid the dim shades that wander there

Shalt thou flit forth and haunt the filmy air.

To A Girl In A Garden

O soft and dainty maiden, from afar

I watch you, as amidst the flowers you move,

And pluck them, singing.

More golden than all gold your tresses are:

Never was harp-note like your voice, my love,

Your voice sweet-ringing.

Dica

With flowers fair adorn thy lustrous hair,

Dica, amidst thy locks sweet blossoms twine,

With thy soft hands, for so a maiden stands

Accepted of the gods, whose eyes divine

Are turned away from her-though fair as May

She waits, but round whose locks no flowers shine.

Orchard Song

Cool murmur of water through apple-wood

Troughs without number

The whole orchard fills, whilst the leaves

Lend their music to slumber.

Mother, I Cannot Mind My Wheel

Mother, I cannot mind my wheel;

My fingers ache, my lips are dry;

Oh! if you felt the pain I feel!

But oh, who ever felt as I!

My Garden

I've a garden, a garden of dreams,

Where the cool breeze whispering sways

Softly the apple-sprays,

And from leaves that shimmer and quiver

Down on mine eyelids streams

A slumber-river

Like The Sweet Apple

Like the sweet apple that reddens

At end of the bough——

Far end of the bough——

Left by the gatherer's swaying,

Forgotten, so thou.

Nay, not forgotten, ungotten,

Ungathered (till now).

Thy Form Is Lovely

Thy form is lovely and thine eyes are honeyed,

O'er thy face the pale

Clear light of love lies like a veil.

Bidding thee rise,

With outstretched hands,

Before thee Aphrodite stands.

Standing by my bed

Standing by my bed

in gold sandals

Dawn that very

moment awoke me

Tell everyone

Tell everyone

now, today, I shall

sing beautifully for

my friends' pleasure

The Muses

It is the Muses

who have caused me

to be honred: they

taught me their craft

We Know This Much

We know this much

Death is an evil;

we have the gods'

word for it; they too

would die if death

were a good thing

I Took My Lyre

I took my lyre and said:

Come now, my heavenly

tortoise shell: become

a speaking instrument

Cyprian, in my dream

Cyprian, in my dream

the folds of a purple

kerchief shadowed

your cheeks——the one

Timas one time sent,

a timid gift, all

the way from Phocaea

Without Warning

Without warning

as a whirl wind

swoops on an oak

Love shakes my heart