Pindar and Anacreon/Anacreon/Ode 34

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ODE XXXIV.—TO HIS MISTRESS.

Fly me not, thou scornful fair,
Why reject me so?
Is it that my scanty hair
Is whiter than the snow?

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Beauty's blooming flower is thine,
And on thy cheek it glows;
But do not lilies brighter shine
When blended with the rose?

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