On Sappho Choral Fragment 2
Come to me from Crete
And make of me a holy temple,
An apple grove
Nourished by a murmuring brook.
Make of me a fecund meadow
Where horses feed on sweet grass
And slake their thirsts on
The dew of myrtle.
Come to me from Crete
And make of me
Incense of roses
Wafted about
Softly in the wind.
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