XLIX
Ὄτα πάννυχος ἄσφι κατάγρει·
WHEN my dear maidens lie
Each on her bed,
When all night long sleep holds
Their eyes, and softly folds
Their busy hands that ply
The wheel, or spread
The linen on the grass,
While hours of sunshine pass :
Thus when they lie and dream
Of happy things,
The golden age reburns ;
When youth to slumber turns
Beneath the Cynthian beam
Again it brings
To life such bliss and glow
As vanished long ago.
Ah, once to lie awake
Seemed sweet to me !
Now I who even have prayed
That night might be delayed,
Yea, doubled for my sake,
Sigh wearily,
Watching my maids, where they
Together breathe till day.
