II
I, Konallis, am but a goat-girl dwelling on the violet hills of Korinthos,
But going down to the city a marvellous thing befell me;
For the beautiful-silver-fingered hetaira, Myrrhine, held me nightlong in her couch,
Teaching me to stretch wide my arms to receive her strange burning caresses.
III
Fair young men have brought me presents of silver caskets and white mirrors,
Gold for my hair and long lemon-colored chitons and dew-soft perfumes of sweet herbs.
Their bodies are whiter than Leucadian foam and delicate are their flute-girls,
But the wild sleepless nightingales cry in the darkness even as I for Konallis.