And with his many wiles doth seize
And challenge me to sport with him.
But she—and she from Lesbos comes,
That populous and wealthy isle—
Laughs at my hair and calls it grey,
And will prefer a younger lover.
And he says, too, that Sappho says this to him—
You, O my golden-throned muse,
Did surely dictate that sweet hymn,
Which the noble Teian bard,