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Sing we the bounteous streams that ripple and gush through the city;

Quickening flow they and fertile, the soft new life of the plain.

Artemis, maiden most pure, look on us with grace and with pity—

Save us from forced embraces: such love hath no crown but a pain.

Yet not in scorn we chant, but in honour of Aphrodite;

She truly and Hera alone have power with Zeus and control.

Holy the deeds of her rite, her craft is secret and mighty,

And high is her honour on earth, and subtle her sway of the soul.

Yea, and her child is Desire: in the train of his mother he goeth—

Yea and Persuasion soft-lipped, whom none can deny or repel:

Cometh Harmonia too, on whom Aphrodite bestoweth

The whispering parley, the paths of the rapture that lovers love well.