Vrettakosz, Nikiforosz: The orange trees of Sparta (Τῆς Σπάρτης οἱ πορτοκαλιές Angol nyelven)

Τῆς Σπάρτης οἱ πορτοκαλιές, χιόνι, λουλούδια τοῦ ἔρωτα,
ἄσπρισαν ἀπ᾿ τὰ λόγια σου, γείρανε τὰ κλαδιά τους
γιόμισα τὸ μικρό μου κόρφο, πῆγα καὶ στὴ μάνα μου.

Κάθονταν κάτω ἀπ᾿ τὸ φεγγάρι καὶ μὲ νοιάζονταν,
κάθονταν κάτω ἀπ᾿ τὸ φεγγάρι καὶ μὲ μάλωνε:
Χτὲς σ᾿ ἔλουσα, χτὲς σ᾿ ἄλλαξα, ποῦ γύριζες -
ποιὸς γιόμισε τὰ ροῦχα σου δάκρυα
καὶ νεραντζάνθια;

The orange trees of Sparta, snow, flowers of love,
sprang into whiteness at your words, bending down their branches,
I hugged them to my small breast and went to my mother.

She was sitting under the moon, worrying about me,
she was sitting under the moon and she scolded me:
Yesterday I washed you, yesterday I changed you, where did you run off to —
who filled your clothes with tears
and bitter-orange blossoms.