Classical Greek poet (ca. 563-478 B.C.E.) best remembered for his short epicurean lyrics in praise of erotic love and wine. David Campbell offers the following prose translation:

We count you blessed, cicada, when on the treetops, having drunk a little dew, you sing like a king: you own everything that you see in the fields, everything that the woods produce. You (spare?) farmers, robbing none of them. You are honored as the sweet prophet of summer. The Muses love you and Phoebus himself loves you and has given you a clear song. Age does not distress you, wise one, earth-born, song-lover! You do not suffer, whose flesh is bloodless, you are almost like the gods.                                                                                                                                          (205-7)