Leave Crete and come to this holy dwelling
To the lovely grove of apple trees
To your altars smoking with frankinsence.
Cool water rushes through the apple branches
Rose bushes lay their shadow on the ground
And from the glistening leaves
Sleep pours down
Here in the meadow my horses feed,
The gentle flowers of spring bloom,
And the wind blows softly.
Aphrodite, take this honey nectar
And pour it so gracefully into
Our golden cups
Mingling your joy with the festival of our love.
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