The Distaff

Come, ye dainty Graces and lovely Muses, Rosy-armed and pure and with fairest tresses, Come from groves on Helicon’s hill where murmur Founts that are holy;

Come with dancing step and with lips harmonic, Gather near and view my ivory distaff, Gift from Cos my brother Charaxus brought me, Sailing from Egypt;

Sailing back to Lesbos from far Naucratis, From the seven mouths of the Nile and Egypt Up the blue Ægean, the island-dotted Ocean of Hellas;

Choicest wool alone will I spin for fabrics, Winding reel with threads for the cloths as fleecy, Soft and fine as they bring from far Phocea, Sidon or Sardis;

While I weave my thought shall engird the giver, Whether here, or far on the sea, or resting Couched in shady courts with the lovely garland Girls of Naucratis.