CXLIII THE TRUE DEATH
Mitchell S. (Mitchell Starrett) Buck translation
APHRODITE; merciless goddess, thou hast willed that, for me also, the happy youth of beautiful hair shall disappear in a few days. Why am I not dead now!
I have regarded myself in my mirror: I have no longer smiles or tears. O sweet face that loved Mnasidika, I cannot believe that thou wast mine.
Can it be that all is ended! I have not yet lived five times eight years; it seems to me that I was born only yesterday, and now, behold, I must say: No one will love me more.
All my cut hair, I have twisted into a girdle, and I offer it to thee, Cypris eternal! I will never cease to adore thee. This is the last verse of the pious Bilitis.