Erinna, thou art ever fair


    Πάρθενον ἀδύφωνον·

    ERINNA, thou art ever fair, 
    Not as the young spring flowers, 
    We who have laurel in our hair— 
    Eternal youth is ours. 
    The roses that Pieria's dew 
    Hath washed can ne'er decline ; 
    On Orpheus' tomb at first they grew, 
    And there the Sacred Nine, 
    'Mid quivering moonlight, seek the groves 
    Guarding the minstrel's tomb ; 
    Each for the poet that she loves 
    Plucks an immortal bloom. 
    Soon as my girl's sweet voice she caught, 
    Thither Euterpe sped, 
    And, singing too, a garland wrought 
    To crown Erinna's head.