XLVIII

Fine woven purple linen

I bring thee from Phocaea,

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.