Annotations XXX Πόλυ πάκτιδος ἀδυμελεστέρα, χρύσω χρυσοτέρα· THINE elder that I am, thou must not cling To me, nor mournful for my love entreat : And yet, Alcaeus, as the sudden spring Is love, yea, and to veiled Demetia sweet. Sweeter than tone of harp, more gold than gold Is thy young voice to me ; yet, ah, the pain To learn I am beloved now I am old, Who, in my youth, loved, as thou must, in vain. Book traversal links for Thine elder that I am, thou must not cling ‹ When through thy breast wild wrath doth spread Up Nay, I have no experience of ill ›
