The scent of mint on the sandy grave of Nicias

Crieth unto the wanderer

For remembrance.

Here in the arms of the harvest

Lieth the gleaner, Bion,

Whose sickle shineth above him in the evening.

Far from tides and sand

On the slope of Cithaeron

Resteth Eumenes

In the purple distance.

His fellow tunny-fishers erect this stone.

Chaste Clearista flowereth in the heavens,

For dearer than Helen’s beauty in April sunlight

The gods love the spotless dreams of a maiden.

Fairer than iris blossoms slenderly swaying

Under the sighing zephyrs of sandy Argos,

The harvest breezes stole the heart of Erinna.

Now she dreameth under the meadow grasses.

The swan afloat on the rippling azure waters

Remembereth thy fairness, Rhododaphne,

And dreameth on time’s surface of thy passing.

Nerissa played with the swallows till the twilight.

Now they soar above her,

And they wonder.

Barefoot, a little lad hath wandered far,

And we have sought in vain,

For he hath found

The amaranthine meadows.

Far from Cos where the sailors hail in passing,

Cleonicus lieth unmarked on the ocean strand.

The crying gulls bring tidings of ancient summer,

But not to me the sound of his glad coming.

Now that the flower is blown

And the rosy petals

Render earth more fragrant

With their body,

Myrrhis dreameth of spring in the flaming ground.

Lightly I walked the hills of my native Hellas.

Lightly I rest in the heart of her rushing forest,

Hermas, the hunter,

At peace,

With the moon above me.

Thyrsis, who loved the rain in the dreaming hollows,

Wandereth now soft-sandalled in misty ways,

Where the scent of flag

Recalleth not

Hylas, lonely.