Thine elder that I am, thou must not cling

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.