Doric

With her hair closely cropped up to the nape

Like Dorian Apollo’s, the girl lay on the narrow

Pallet, keeping her limbs stiffly frozen

Within a heavy cloud she could not escape...

Artemis emptied her quiver—every arrow

Shot through her body. And though very soon

She’d be no virgin, like cold honeycomb,

Her virgin thighs still kept her pleasure sealed...

As if to the arena, the youth came

Oiled with myrrh, and like a wrestler kneeled

To pin her down; and although he broke past

Her arms that she had thrust against his chest,

Only much later, with one cry, face to face,

Did they join lips, and out of their sweat, embrace...