If Zeus chose us a King of
the flowers in his mirth,
He would call to the rose,
and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose!
Is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants
that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose!
Is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows
that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty,
that strikes through the bowers,
On pale lovers that sit in
the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of
love! Ho, the rose lifts the cup,
To the red lips of Cypris
invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled
its sweet leaves for the world,
Takes delight in the motion
its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as
it laughs from the west.
Song of the Rose by Sappho (attributed) translation by
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
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