Xlviii

Fine woven purple linen I bring thee from Phocæa, That, beauty upon beauty, A precious gift may cover The lap where I have lain.

And a gold comb, and girdle, And trinkets of white silver, And gems are in my sea-chest, Lest poor and empty-handed Thy lover should return.

And I have brought from Tyre A Pan-flute stained vermilion, Wherein the gods have hidden Love and desire and longing, Which I shall loose for thee.