On the throne of many hues, Immortal Aphrodite 
Child of Zeus weaving wiles--
I beg you not to subdue my spirit, Queen,
With pain or sorrow 

but come--if ever before 
having heard my voice from far away
you listened, and leaving your father's 
golden home you came


//

There's a moment when I look at you
And no speech is left in me.
My tongue breaks.
Then fire races under my skin and I tremble.
And grow pale for I am dying of such love
Or so it seems to me.