I see her holding her cup of milk and regarding me sideways, with a smile. I see her, powdered, her hair dressed, opening her great eyes before her mirror and retouching with her finger the red of her lips. And, above all, if my despair is a perpetual torture, it is because I know, moment by moment, how she swoons in the arms of another, and what she demands of her and what she gives. XC TO THE WAX DOLL Doll of wax, dear plaything which she called her child, she has wearied of thee also and she has forgotten thee like myself, who, with her, was thy father or thy mother, I know not which. The pressure of her lips has discolored thy little cheeks; and on thy left hand see the broken finger which made her weep so much. This little cyclas which thou wearest, it was she who broidered it for thee. She said thou couldst already read. Nevertheless thou wert not weaned, and in the evening, bending over thee, she opened her tunic and gave thee the breast, “so that thou wouldst not cry,” she said. Doll, if I wished to see her again, I would give thee to Aphrodite, as the dearest of my gifts. But I would rather think that she is wholly dead. XCI FUNERAL CHANT Sing a funeral chant, muses of Mytilene, sing! The earth is sombre like a vestment of mourning and the yellow trees shiver like shaken hair. Heraios! O sweet and sorrowful month! the leaves fall gently like snow, the sun penetrates deeply into the thinning forest.... I hear nothing more, save the silence. Behold, they have carried Pittakos, laden with years, to the tomb. Many are dead of those I knew. And she who lives is to me as though she were no longer. This is the tenth autumn I have seen dying upon this plain. It is time that I also vanished away. Weep for me, muses of Mytilene, weep upon my steps! EPIGRAMS IN THE ISLAND OF CYPROS Αλλά με ναρκισσοις ἀναδήσατε, καὶ πλαγιαύλων γεύσατε καὶ κροκίνοις χρίσατε γυἰα μύροις. Καὶ Μυτιληναίῳ τόν πνεύμονα τέγξατε βάκχῳ καὶ συζεύξατε μοι φωλάδα παρθενικήν. PHILODEMOS. “--Bind my head with narcissus and let me taste the crooked flute. Anoint my limbs with saffron ointment, wet my gullet with wine of Mytilene and mate me with a virgin who will love her nest.” (Anth. Pal. XI-34. Paton.) XCII HYMN TO THE ASTARTE Mother inexhaustible, incorruptible, creatrix, first-born, self-engendered, self-created, issue of thyself alone and delight of thyself, Astarte! O perpetually fecund, O virgin and nurse of all, chaste and lascivious, pure and fruitive, ineffable, nocturnal, soft, breather of fire, foam of the sea!