Μοῦσα φίλα, τίνι τάνδε φέρεις πάγκαρπον ἀοιδάν;
ἢ τίς ὁ καὶ τεύξας ὑμνοθετᾶν στέφανον;
ἄνυσε μὲν Μελέαγρος, ἀριζάλῳ δὲ Διοκλεῖ
μναμόσυνον ταύταν ἐξεπόνησε χάριν,
πολλὰ μὲν ἐμπλέξας Ἀνύτης κρίνα, πολλὰ δὲ Μοιροῦς
λείρια, καὶ Σαπφοῦς βαιὰ μέν, ἀλλὰ ῥόδα:
νάρκισσόν τε τορῶν Μελανιππίδου ἔγκυον ὕμνων,
καὶ νέον οἰνάνθης κλῆμα Σιμωνίδεω:
σὺν δ᾽ ἀναμὶξ πλέξας μυρόπνουν εὐάνθεμον ἶριν
Νοσσίδος, ἧς δέλτοις κηρὸν ἔτηξεν Ἔρως:
τῇ δ᾽ ἅμα καὶ σάμψυχον ἀφ᾽ ἡδυπνόοιο Ῥιανοῦ,
καὶ γλυκὺν Ἠρίννης παρθενόχρωτα κρόκον,
Ἀλκαίου τε λάληθρον ἐν ὑμνοπόλοις ὑάκινθον…
-
Beloved Muse, to whom do you bear this fruitful song?
Who wrought a wreath of poets?
Meleager did, and for illustrious Diocles
made this memento as a favor,
weaving in lots of Anyte's bright lilies, many of Moiro’s
fair lilies, and of Sappho few, but roses;
narcissus of Melanippides, imbued with piercing song,
the tender shoot of Simonides’ blooming vine,
and with them jumbled the fragrant rich-flowered iris
of Nossis-- Eros melted the wax for her tablets;
together too with marjoram from sweet-breathing Rhianus,
the honeyed maiden-bright crocus of Erinna,
and Alcaeus’ hyacinth, babbling among bards…