They plaited garlands in their time

I

Αὐτὰρ ὀραῖαι στεφανηπλόκευν·

THEY plaited garlands in their time ;
They knew the joy of youth's sweet prime,
     Quick breath and rapture:
Theirs was the violet-weaving bliss,
And theirs the white, wreathed brow to kiss,
     Kiss, and recapture.

They plaited garlands, even these ;
They learnt Love's golden mysteries
     Of young Apollo;
The lyre unloosed their souls ; they lay
Under the trembling leaves at play,
     Bright dreams to follow.

They plaited garlands—heavenly twine !
They crowned the cup, they drank the wine
     Of youth's deep pleasure.
Now, lingering for the lyreless god—
Oh yet, once in their time, they trod
      A choric measure.