Dica, the Graces oft incline


    Σὼ δἐ στεφάνοις, ὦ Δίκα, περθέσθ’ ἐράταις φόβαισιν
    ὄρπακας ἀνήτοιο συνέρραις’ ἀπάλαισι χέρσιν·
    εὐάνθεα γὰρ πέλεται καὶ χάριτες μάκαιρα
    μᾶλλον προτέρην· ἀστεφανώτοισι δ’ ἀπυστρέφονται·

    DICA, the Graces oft incline 
    To watch thy fingers' skill 
    As with light foliage they entwine 
    The aromatic dill: 
    Then seek the fount where feathery, 
    Young shoots and tendrils creep, 
    For samphire and for rosemary 
    Climb thou the marble steep, 
    Turn to the reed-bed by the stream 
    For pansies' dark and yellow gleam, 
    And midmost of thy blossoms set 
    Narcissus with white coronet. 

    To clothe thy life with brilliancy 
    And honour is to give 
    Joy to the gods ; they love to see 
    How pleasantly men live ;
    They love the crowned and fragrant head, 
    But turn their face away 
    From those who come ungarlanded, 
    For none delight as they 
    In piercing, languorous, spicy scent, 
    And thousand hues in lustre blent: 
    Such sacrifice, O Dica, bring ! 
    Thy garland is a beauteous thing.