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“In spring the quince trees ripen in the girls' holy orchard with river waters; and grapes turn violet under the shade of luxuriant leafage and newborn shoots. But for me, Eros knows no winter sleep, and as north winds burn down from Thrace with searing lighting, Kypris mutilates my heart with black and baleful love.” — Ibykos
In spring the quince trees
ripen in the girls' holy orchard
with river waters;
and grapes turn violet
under the shade of luxuriant leafage
and newborn shoots.
But for me, Eros
knows no winter sleep, and as north winds
burn down from Thrace
with searing lighting,
Kypris mutilates my heart with black
and baleful love.