To gather flowers Sappha went,
And homeward she did bring
Within her lawny continent
The treasure of the spring.

She smiling blushed, and blushing smiled,
And sweetly blushing thus,
She looked as she'd been got with child
By young Favonius.

Her apron gave as she did pass
An adour more divine,
More pleasing, too, than ever was
The lap of Proserpine.