[From a Delos mosaic and the cover of Pierre Roussel's "Delos: holiest of
islands"' Greek edition (1994); originally published in 1925]
Oh Delos, if you would only like to host my son,
Phoebus Apollo, and erect an opulent temple for him!
No alien is destined to ever approach or notice you,
nor do I foresee an abundance of sheep and cattle,
nor grapes to gather nor countless plants to grow.
Should you own far-reaching Apollo's temple, however,
all people will be sacrificing for you hundreds of bulls
gathered right here, and the perennially ascending
smell of burnt fat will be beyond description;
and your inhabitants will be fed by the hands of others,
with no part of your soil being soft and fertile.
[From the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (51-60, my translation); do not be
the rider shown is Dionysos, reigning to this day in nearby Mykonos and
throughout the Aegean!]
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