Three Greek Songs

Behold the dust of Timas dead.
She knew not wedlock's hour
For ere that day her golden head
Passed to the dark maid's bower.

Yea, she has gone, 
and all her comrades fair
Have shorn with flashing steel 
the radiance of their hair.

Now swallows build beneath the eves
And shape anew their rounded homes
Now meadows smile with tender leaves
And know that spring has come.

Now is the time for ships to go
And lightly o'er the billows leap
While winter winds no longer blow
or vex the ocean deep.

Come then ye shipmen hoist the sail
And from its nest the anchor haul
Coil the wet ropes and take the gale
Lo, I Priapus call.

Thou gazest on the stars;
Would I might be,
O star of mine, the skies
With myriad eyes to gaze on thee!