Ancient Greece, art, Muses, Mythology, Philosophy, poetry

The Hesperides

Auburn haired guardians of the golden crop

I yearn for you and your splendid valley

Where the winds sing and the crickets hop

Where the sun does shine lackadaisically

 

The farthest brink of the mortal panoply

That is where your astounding garden grows

In the arms of Atlas most tenderly

And at whose mighty feet you softly doze

 

Your locks are as red as the blooming rose

That grows about you in the fertile sun

You seem intoxicated by passions’ throes

By the ecstasy that  in streams here run

 

The beauty and the sunlight do not yield

Let me walk evermore in this blissful field

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