{"collection":"Classics","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/cla/sob/sob037.htm","path":"cla/sob/sob037.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/cla/sob/sob037.htm","text":"I fell asleep alone like a partridge in the heath. . . . The light breeze, the noise of the water and the softness of the night had held me there.\nI had fallen asleep, imprudently, and I awoke with a scream, and I struggled and I wept; but it was too late already. What service are a child's hands?\nHe would not leave me. Nay, he clasped me more fondly in his arms, pressed me against him and I saw no more, nor earth nor trees but only the glowing fire in his eyes.\nTo you, victorious Kypris, I consecrate these offerings, still moist with dew, vestiges of the anguish of a maid, witnesses of my slumber and my struggle.","title":"The Songs of Bilitis: I. Bucolics In Pamphylia: Interrupt...","type":"page"}