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.