Book IX, 668: On a Suburban Park in Amasia called Eros

Verily it is lovely, the grove of Eros, where these beautiful trees are stirred by the gentle breath of Zephyr, where the dewy meadow is bright with flowers, sending up a wealthy show of purple-fringed cups, while the roses of three fountains in a line one after the other spout forth the streams of the sweet Naiad. Here Iris, the ancient river, swims past the woods, resort of the soft-haired Hamadryads, eee eee and in the fruitful vineyard the fat berries of the olive-trees flourish everywhere above the great clusters of raisins set out to dry. Around sing the nightingales, and the cicada hymns an answering harmony. Do not, stranger, pass by my open gate, but enter the house and partake of my simple hospitality.