In the spring-time

Now the white iris blossoms, and the rain-loving narcissus,

And now again the lily, the mountain-roaming, blows.

Now too, the flower of lovers, the crown of all the springtime,

Zenophila the winsome, doth blossom with the rose.

O meadows, wherefore vainly in your radiant garlands laugh ye?

Since fairer is the maiden than any flower that grows!