Mnasidica

Set, O Dica, garlands on thy lovely
Glinting mass of fine and golden tresses,
Sprays of dill with fingers soft entwining
While I stand apart to better judge.

Those who have fair wreaths about the forehead,
Breathing brentheian odor to the senses,
Ever first find favor with the Graces
Who from wreathless suppliants turn away.

Dica, Mnasidica, thou art shapely
With the flowing curves of Aphrodite;
Eyes the color of her azure ocean
Washing wide on Cyprus’ languid shore.

In thy every movement grace unconscious
Sways the rhythmic poem of thy body,
Charming with elusive undulation
Like a splendid lily in the wind.

As I stand apart to judge the better
Fair effects that roses add to beauty,
All thy rays of loveliness concentered
Sun me till I swoon with swift desire.