04-10-2013, 04:59 PM
As fawn
These bows will hide me from the sight of Zeus,
who mounts the sky to which my fawning eye
has turned, while in my bath they’ve made me lie
to warmly wash me clean, with drops that sluice
by thousands from my chalice, nearly dry
from use, by nymphs more vigorous than are hers.
To clean within her skin no love could spur
those beauts, her washing, who had heard me sigh
while gladly gazing out on brown liqueur
then set to cool in clear and flowing stream;
for this, I die by dogs as fawn who screams.
These bows will hide me from the sight of Zeus,
who mounts the sky to which my fawning eye
has turned, while in my bath they’ve made me lie
to warmly wash me clean, with drops that sluice
by thousands from my chalice, nearly dry
from use, by nymphs more vigorous than are hers.
To clean within her skin no love could spur
those beauts, her washing, who had heard me sigh
while gladly gazing out on brown liqueur
then set to cool in clear and flowing stream;
for this, I die by dogs as fawn who screams.