Sappho - Hyporcheme lyrics

Thus contend the maidens In the cretic dance, Rosy arms that glisten, Eyes that glance; Cheeks as fair as blossoms, Parted lips that glow, With their honeyed voices Chanting low; With their plastic bodies Swaying to the flute, Moving with the music Never mute; Graceful the orchestric Figures they unfold, While the vesper heaven Turns to gold. Turns to gold.