Have you forgotten me,

O my beloved?

Have you deserted me

Now in the autumn?

See where the swallows fly

South o'er the ocean:

Soon will the winter wind

Sweep the Ægean.

Up from the vineyard comes

Music of laughter;

Far through the valleys they

Gather the harvest.

Westward the evening star

Sinks in the mountains;

Pale 'neath the rising moon

Lies Mytilene.

Here where the headland looks

Wide o'er the water,

I have brought laurel leaves,

Decking your barrow.

Why do I linger now

Vainly lamenting?

O it is lonely, love,—

Lonely in Lesbos!