R. N. Smith

“ Beautiful on the hills is the light of starry Selené,
Beautiful, cruel, and cold is the glance of starry Selene;
Chilled to the heart by her kiss, Endymion slumbers on Latmos,
Never again to awake, ah, me! to the glory of living.
⁠Ai, that the gifts of the gods should be so fatal to mortals!
Year follows year, and race follows race, but Endymion wakes not.
⁠Maids in the Latmian valleys bewailed for the beautiful shepherd,
Wept for his golden hair, and his ready foot in the Choros,
Wept for the summer eves when they wandered with him on the hillside. ”