Down the sides of rocks that are gray and lichened Trickle tiny rills, whose expectant tinkle Drips with gurgle hushed in the clear glimmering Depths of the basin.
Fair on royal couches of leaves recumbent, Interspersed with languor of waxen lilies, Lotus flowers empurple the pool whose edge is Cushioned with mosses;
Here recline the Nymphs at the hour of twilight, Back in shadows dim of the cave, their golden Sea-green eyes half lidded, up to their supple Waists in the water.
Sheltered once by ferns I espied them binding Tresses long, the tint of lilac and orange; Just beyond the shimmer of light their bodies Roseate glistened;
Deftly, then, they girdled their loins with garlands, Linked with leaves luxuriant limb and shoulder; On their breasts they bruised the red blood of roses Fresh from the garden.
She of orange hair was the Nymph Euxanthis, And the lilac-tressed were Iphis and Io; How they laughed, relating at length their ease in Evading the Satyr.
When the drifting gray of the vesper shadow Dimmed their upward path through the midmost azure, And the length of night overtook them distant Far from Olympus;
Far away from splendor and joy of Paphos, From the voice and smile of their peerless Mistress, Back to whom their truant wings were in rapture Speeding belated;
Chilled at heart and grieving they drooped their pinions, Circled slowly, dipping in flight toward Lesbos, Down through dusk that darkened on Mitylene's Columns of marble;
Down through glory wan of the fading sunset, Veering ever toward the abode of Sappho, Toward my home, the fane of the glad devoted Slave of the Goddess;
Soon they gained the tile of my roof and rested, Slipped their heads beneath their wings while I watched them Sink to sleep and dreams, in the warm and drowsy Night of midsummer.
Golden-throned Muse, sing the song that in olden Days was sung of love and delight in Teos, In the goodly land of the lovely women: Strains that in other
Years the hoary bard with the youthful fancy Set to mirthful stir of flutes, when the dancing Nymphs that poured the wine for the poet's banquet Mixed it with kisses;
Sing the song while I, in the arms of Atthis, Seal her lips to mine with a lover's fervor, Breathe her breath and drink her sighs to the honeyed Lull of the melics.