Pindar and Anacreon/Anacreon/Ode 34
ODE XXXIV.—TO HIS MISTRESS.
Fly me not, thou scornful fair,
Why reject me so?
Is it that my scanty hair
Is whiter than the snow?
Beauty's blooming flower is thine,
And on thy cheek it glows;
But do not lilies brighter shine
When blended with the rose?