Now let me read you the others also which they read last as being the most intemperate in expression.

I lay these garlands, Critias sweet,

and this my song before thy feet;

song to thyself I dedicate,

wreaths to the Angel of thy fate.

The song I send to hymn the praise

of this, the best of all glad days,

whereon the circling seasons bring

the glory of thy fourteenth spring;

the garlands, that thy brows may shine

with splendour worthy spring's and thine,

that thou in boyhood's golden hours

mayst deck the flower of life with flowers.

Wherefore for these bright blooms of spring

thy springtide sweet surrendering,

the tribute of my love repay

and all my gifts with thine outweigh.

Surpass the twined garland's grace

with arms entwined in soft embrace;

the crimson of the rose eclipse

with kisses from thy rosy lips.

Or if thou wilt, be this my meed

and breathe thy soul into the reed; \u00a1!

then shall my songs be shamed and mute

before the music of thy flute.