What bucolic maiden
Now thy heart bewitches,
O my Andromeda
Of the strange amours?
Round her awkward ankles
She has not the faintest
Sense of art to draw her
Long ungraceful tunic.
Yet she surely makes thee,
O my Andromeda,
For thy sweet unlawful
Love a fair requital.
Joy and praise attend thee,
In thy keen perceptive
Taste for beauty, daughter
Of Polyanax!
Of Polyanax!