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The Poems of Sappho, by John Myers O'Hara, [1910], at

p. 62


Thus contend the maidens
  In the cretic dance,
Rosy arms that glisten,
  Eyes that glance;

Cheeks as fair as blossoms,
  Parted lips that glow,
With their honeyed voices
  Chanting low;

With their plastic bodies
  Swaying to the flute,
Moving with the music
  Never mute;

Graceful the orchestric
  Figures they unfold,
While the vesper heaven
  Turns to gold.

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