The season of ships is here,
The west wind and the swallows;
Flowers in the fields appear,
And the ocean of hills and hollows Has calmed its waves and is clear.
Free that anchor and chain!
Set your full canvas flying,
O men in the harbor lane:
It is I, Priapus, crying.
Sail out on your trades again!

From The Greek Anthology, Peter Jay, ed., no. 197