οὔπω σοι καλύκων γυμνὸν θέρος, οὐδὲ μελαίνει
βότρυς ὁ παρθενίους πρωτοβολῶν χάριτας:
ἀλλ᾽ ἤδη θοὰ τόξα νέοι θήγουσιν Ἔρωτες,
Λυσιδίκη, καὶ πῦρ τύφεται ἐγκρύφιον.

φεύγωμεν, δυσέρωτες, ἕως βέλος οὐκ ἐπὶ νευρῇ:
μάντις ἐγὼ μεγάλης αὐτίκα πυρκαϊῆς.

— Paton edition

Thy summer's flower hath not yet burst from the bud, the grape that puts forth its first virgin charm is yet green, but already the young Loves sharpen their swift arrows, Lysidice, and a hidden fire is smouldering. Let us fly, Ave unlucky lovers, before the arrow is on the string. I foretell right soon a vast conflagration.

— Paton edition

Pour toi l’été n’a pas encore dépouillé ses boutons ni noirci la grappe qui pousse ses premières grâces virginales. Mais déjà les jeunes Amours aiguisent leurs flèches rapides, Lysidikê, et le feu couve en secret. Fuyons, malheureux amants, tant que la flèche n’est pas sur la corde ; bientôt, je le prédis, ce sera un terrible incendie.

— Waltz edition

Thy petals yet are closely curled,
Rose of the world,
Around their scented, golden core;
Nor yet has Summer purpled o'er
Thy tender clusters that begin
To swell within
The dewy vine-leaves' early screen
Of sheltering green.

O hearts that are Love's helpless prey,
While yet you may,
Fly, ere the shaft is on the string!
The fire that now is smouldering
Shall be the conflagration soon
Whose paths are strewn
With torment of blanched lips and eyes
That agonize.

— Seeger, Alan (1888–1916): Poems by Alan Seeger (1916)

Thy petals yet are closely curled,
Rose of the world,
Around their scented, golden core;
Nor yet has Summer purpled o'er
Thy tender clusters that begin
To swell within
The dewy vine-leaves' early screen
Of sheltering green.

O hearts that are Love's helpless prey,
While yet you may,
Fly, ere the shaft is on the string!
The fire that now is smouldering
Shall be the conflagration soon
Whose paths are strewn
With torment of blanched lips and eyes
That agonize.

— Seeger, Alan (1888–1916): Poems by Alan Seeger (1916)

Pour toi l’été n’a pas encore dépouillé ses boutons ni noirci la grappe qui pousse ses premières grâces virginales. Mais déjà les jeunes Amours aiguisent leurs flèches rapides, Lysidikê, et le feu couve en secret. Fuyons, malheureux amants, tant que la flèche n’est pas sur la corde ; bientôt, je le prédis, ce sera un terrible incendie.

— Waltz edition

Thy summer's flower hath not yet burst from the bud, the grape that puts forth its first virgin charm is yet green, but already the young Loves sharpen their swift arrows, Lysidice, and a hidden fire is smouldering. Let us fly, Ave unlucky lovers, before the arrow is on the string. I foretell right soon a vast conflagration.

— Paton edition

οὔπω σοι καλύκων γυμνὸν θέρος, οὐδὲ μελαίνει
βότρυς ὁ παρθενίους πρωτοβολῶν χάριτας:
ἀλλ᾽ ἤδη θοὰ τόξα νέοι θήγουσιν Ἔρωτες,
Λυσιδίκη, καὶ πῦρ τύφεται ἐγκρύφιον.

φεύγωμεν, δυσέρωτες, ἕως βέλος οὐκ ἐπὶ νευρῇ:
μάντις ἐγὼ μεγάλης αὐτίκα πυρκαϊῆς.

— Paton edition