This garland plaited by my very hands is not for Artemis who rules at Perga--though Artemis will shield me from the labour-pangs.
Nor for Sidonian Athene, although she be of ivory and gold, and bears in her hand a pomegranate to tempt the birds.
No, but for Aphrodite whom I love within my breast, for she alone can sate my hungry lips if I suspend upon her sacred tree my loops of tender rosebuds.
But never will I say my need aloud. I'll stand on tiptoe, whispering my wish in secret to a crevice in the bark.