Bear me to Dictaeus,
and to the steep slopes;
to the river Erymanthus.
I choose spray of dittany,
cyperum, frail of flower,
buds of myrrh,
all-healing herbs,
close pressed in calathes.
For she lies panting,
drawing sharp breath,
broken with harsh sobs.
she, Hyella,
whom no god pities.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is only the first part of this (great) poem