Ἦρι μὲν αἵ τε Κυδώνιαι
μηλίδες ἀρδόμεναι ῥοᾶν
ἐκ ποταμῶν, ἵνα Παρθένων
κῆπος ἀκήρατος, αἵ τ’ οἰνανθίδες
αὐξόμεναι σκιεροῖσιν ὑφ’ ἕρνεσιν
οἰναρέοις θαλέθοισιν· ἐμοὶ δ’ ἔρος
οὐδεμίαν κατάκοιτος ὥραν.
†τε† ὑπὸ στεροπᾶς φλέγων
Θρηΐκιος βορέας
ἀΐσσων παρὰ Κύπριδος ἀζαλέ-
αις μανίαισιν ἐρεμνὸς ἀθαμβὴς
ἐγκρατέως παιδόθεν †φυλάσσει†
ἡμετέρας φρένας.
(Ibycus, fr. 286)

In spring appear the Cydonian
apples, watered by the rivers’
floods, in the untouched
garden of the Virgins, while the grape-blossoms
swell and flourish beneath the shadows
grape-vines cast. But there is no season when
my passion lays calm in bed.
†and† like the Thracian north wind,
burning from the lightning blast,
rushing from Cypris with scorch-
ing madness, dark and fearless
powerfully ever since I was a boy †it guards†
my mind.
(tr. Stuart Douglas Olson)

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