When Myrrhine departed I, weeping passionately, kissed her
golden-wrought knees, saying:
“O, Myrrhine, by what god shall I keep the memory of thy caresses?”
But she, bending down like golden, smiling Aphrodite, whispered to me;
And lying here in the sunlight among the reeds I remember her words.
X
Hierocleia, do thou weave white-violet-crowns and spread
mountain-haunting lilies upon my couch,
For Konallis comes! and shut the door against the young men for this is
a sharper love.