I have a child, a lovely one,
In beauty like the golden sun,
Or like sweet flowers of earliest bloom,
And Clais is her name, for whom
I Lydia's treasures, were they mine,
Would glad resign.

The moon hath left the sky;
Lost is the Pleiads' light;
It is midnight,
And time slips by,
But on my couch alone I lie.

Beauty shines — see, rays are darted from his eyes. Is it Eros who appears to us as a youth, conquering with fire?
Hail, Myiscus, you who bring the flame of Desire to mortals, who shine upon earth, a dear torch to me!

Suppose you hadn't voted yesterday,
Saying, “What matters one vote, anyway?”
If that's the song that everyone would sing,
What would become of us and everything?
If everyone said, “What's my little vote?”
What would become of us? I'll be the goat.
What sort of place would this world be to-day?
And just what sort of place is it to-day?

If the Desires love you, Philocles, and myrrh-breathing Persuasion and the lovely flower-gathering Graces, you will hold Diodorus in your arms, lovely Dorotheus shall sing before you, Callicrates shall sit at your knee, Dion shall warm your drinking-cup holding it carefully in his hand, Uliades shall remove its cover, Philo shall kiss you, Thero shall chatter to you and you shall touch the breast of Eudemos.
If the gods give you these joys, O fortunate one, you will add a spice to the Roman feast!

Unhappy lovers, drinkers of mingled wine, you who know the flame of love, I call upon you to pour on my heart cold water, water cooled with snow — I dared to look at Dionysius!
Fellow-slaves, put out the fire before it reaches my heart.

Heraclitus speaks silently with his eyes: " I cast the thunderfire of Zeus. "
And the breast of Diodorus says: " I melt the stone which is warmed against me. "
Unhappy is he who is smitten by the flame from the eyes of the one and by the soft fire smouldering with desire from the other!

A fair south wind breathes for the sailors, O unhappy lover, and drags away from me Andragathos, the half of my soul.
Thrice blessed ship! Thrice fortunate waves! And fourtimes happy wind bearing him along! Would I were a dolphin that he might come to Rhodes, the island of beautiful lads, borne upon my shoulders.

Be drunk, unhappy lover, and let Bromius, giver of forgetfulness, lull your burning love!
Be drunk, fill your cup with wine and drive hateful grief from your heart!

For you, Aphrodite, Love gathered in his hand this many-blossoming flower, this lovely garland.
He wove into it the lily of Diodorus, the soft white violet of Asclepiades and he bound into it Heraclitus, like a thorny rose. The vine of Dion blooms in it. And he added the golden-haired crocus of Theron and the springing wild thyme of Uliades and soft-haired Myiscus, an ever-green olive shoot, and the lovely young branch of Arates.
O sacred, O most happy island Tyre! In you is this myrrhbreathing, flower-bearing grove of Aphrodite!