Φαίνεταί ϝοι κῆνος·
LIFT, lover, thy long-shadowed eyne !
Why should thy sleepless lids decline,
Thy breast so deeply sigh ?
Seek we the shade of yonder pine,
'Neath which the river flows ;
There we the sweet flower-test will try
For healing of thy woes.
Thou mourn'st thy maiden's faith is gone ;
Stoop for fair-leaved telephilon;
Woe, if the petals cleave !
But see ! sharp-struck thy palms upon,
They leap, they burst, as shoots a star.
Alcaeus, lo ! thou must believe
This sign of Love-afar.