We, Konallis and Myrrhine, dedicate to thee, Proserpine, two white
torches of wax,
For thou didst watch over our purple-embroidered couch all night;
Was it thou who gavest us the sweetness of sharp caresses?
For at midday when we awoke we laughed to see black poppies blooming
beneath our eyes.
V
The doves sleep beside the slow-murmuring cool fountain,
red-five-petalled roses of Paestum strew the chequered marble;
A flute-girl whispers the dear white ode of Sappho, and Hierocleia by
the pool
Smiles to see the smooth blue-sky-reflecting water mirror her shining
body;
But my eyelids are shunned by sleep that is whiter than beautiful
morning, for Konallis is not here.