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Fragment 286

In spring the Kydonian

apple trees, watered by flowing

streams there where the Maidens

have their unravished garden, and vine buds,

growing under the shadowy branches

of the vines, bloom and flourish.

For me, however, love

is at rest in no season

but like the Thracian north wind,

ablaze with lightning,

rushing from Aphrodite with scorching

fits of madness, dark and unrestrained,

it forcibly convulses from their very roots

my mind and heart.

Fragment 287

Once again Love darts me a melting

glance from under dark eyelids

and by magical charms of all sorts entangles me

in Aphrodite's endless nets.

I swear that at his approach, I tremble

like a prize-winning horse still under the yoke in old age

who against his will drafts the swift chariot to the contest.