They bring me gifts, they honour me


    Αἴ με τιμίαν ἐπόησαν ἔργα
    τὰ σφὰ δοῖσαι·

    THEY bring me gifts, they honour me, 
        Now I am growing old; 
    And wondering youth crowds round me
        As if I had a mystery 
        And worship to unfold. 

    O gather round me, golden youth, 
       For justly ye divine 
    I am your prophetess forsooth, 
    And ye shall learn love's very truth 
        Who to my lyre incline. 

    To me the tender, blushing bride
       Doth come with lips that fail; 
    I feel her heart beat at my side, 
    And cry— " Like Ares in his pride, 
        Hail, noble bridegroom, hail! "

    And to the doubting boy afraid 
        Of too ambitious bliss 
    I whisper— " None is like thy maid, 
    And I her fond heart will persuade 
        To feel thou feelest this." 

    Or if Persephone should take 
         me some maid full dear, 
    While friends their lamentations make, 
    I rise, and for the lover's sake 
        I praise her loud and clear. 

    Ye bring me gifts, ye honour me 
        For music and for rhyme ; 
    And if at last my soul sings free, 
    It is that once I stood, as ye, 
        Dumb in youth's golden clime.