bear now ripe fruits from Arcadia,

and Assyrian wine

to shatter her fever.

[34]

The light of her face falls from its flower,

as a hyacinth,

hidden in a far valley,

perishes upon burnt grass.

Pales,

bring gifts,

bring your Phoenician stuffs,

and do you, fleet-footed nymphs,

bring offerings,

Illyrian iris,

and a branch of shrub,

and frail-headed poppies.

[35]

[35]

NIGHT

The night has cut

 Prev. P 48/64 next