I Have Not Had One Word From Her

Rosebuds in my hair aroused me out of my drowse. Fluttering open, my eyes found the hand braiding red florets into my brown strands. A lazy arm, belonging to me, acquired the violet coronet kept on the grass on which I lay, now complete, and slowly placed it on the locks of gold. The rosy lips rose, the same red leaking onto my now warm cheeks. The hand retreating from my hair returned as a necklace of dills and crocuses, tying which she spoke,

“You are, I think, an evening star, the fairest of all the stars. (Sappho)”