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CRINAGORAS.
Book VI., Epigram 345.
Roses of old oped with the opening year,
But we our crimson chalices throw wide
In winter, greeting thus thy birthday, near
To that blest day when thou shalt be a bride.
If us upon thy head thou deign to wear,
O loveliest woman! there to be espied
Were than the sun of spring to us more dear!
Book VII., Epigram 633.
The moon, arising on the verge of twilight,
Hath clouded all her beams to hide her tears,
Since that Selene, her most lovely namesake.
Doth life relinquish and to shades descend.
For she would share death's darkness with the
maiden
Round whom she flung the beauty of her light.
