Poems by Sappho (from Lesbos in ancient Greece, c.

625 BCE) 1

In my eyes he matches the gods, that man who

sits there facing you--any man whatever--
listening from closeby to the sweetness of your
voice as you talk, the

sweetness of your laughter: yes, that--I swear it--

sets the heart to shaking inside my breast, since
once I look at you for a moment, I can't
speak any longer,

but my tongue breaks down, and then all at once a

subtle fire races inside my skin, my
eyes can't see a thing and a whirring whistle
thrums at my hearing,

cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes

ahold of me all over: I'm greener than the
gras is and appear to myself to be little
short of dying now

Translated by Jim Powell

***

Come back to me, Gongyla, here tonight,

You, my rose, with your Lydian lyre.
There hovers forever around you delight:
A beauty desired.

Even your garment plunders my eyes.

I am enchanted: I who once
Complained to the Cyprus-born goddess,
Whom I now beseech

Never to let this lose me grace

But rather bring you back to me:
Amongst all mortal women the one
I most wish to see.

Translated by Paul Roche

***
Poems by Sappho (from Lesbos in ancient Greece, c. 625 BCE) 2

I have not had one word from her

Frankly I wish I were dead
When she left, she wept
a great deal; she said to me, "This parting must be
endured, Sappho. I go unwillingly."
I said, "Go, and be happy
but remember (you know
well) whom you leave shackled by love
"If you forget me, think
of our gifts to Aphrodite
and all the loveliness that we shared
"all the violet tiaras,
braided rosebuds, dill and
crocus twined around your young neck
"myrrh poured on your head
and on soft mats girls with
all that they most wished for beside them
"while no voices chanted
choruses without ours,
no woodlot bloomed in spring without song..."

Translated by Mary Barnard

***

It’s no use
Mother dear, I
can’t finish my
weaving
You may
blame Aphrodite
soft as she is
she has almost
killed me with
love for that boy

Translated by Mary Barnard

***
Poems by Sappho (from Lesbos in ancient Greece, c. 625 BCE) 3

I
Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
Atop on the topmost twig, — which the pluckers forgot, somehow, —
Forget it not, nay; but got it not, for none could get it till now.

II
Like the wild hyacinth flower which on the hills is found,
Which the passing feet of the shepherds for ever tear and wound,
Until the purple blossom is trodden in the ground.

Translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

[Also see the Anita George translation referenced at this link:

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse/164/3#!/20604019 ]

***

Some there are who say that the fairest thing seen
on the black earth is an array of horsemen;
some, men marching; some would say ships; but I say
she whom one loves best

is the loveliest. Light were the work to make this

plain to all, since she, who surpassed in beauty
all mortality, Helen, once forsaking
her lordly husband,

fled away to Troy—land across the water.

Not the thought of child nor beloved parents
was remembered, after the Queen of Cyprus
won her at first sight.

Since young brides have hearts that can be persuaded

easily, light things, palpitant to passion
as am I, remembering Anaktória
who has gone from me

and whose lovely walk and the shining pallor

of her face I would rather see before my
eyes than Lydia’s chariots in all their glory
armored for battle.
Poems by Sappho (from Lesbos in ancient Greece, c. 625 BCE) 4

***

Girls, you be ardent for the fragrant-blossomed

Muses’ lovely gifts, for the clear melodious lyre:
But now old age has seized my tender body,
Now my hair is white, and no longer dark.

My heart’s heavy, my legs won’t support me,

That once were fleet as fawns, in the dance.
I grieve often for my state; what can I do?
Being human, there’s no way not to grow old.

Rosy-armed Dawn, they say, love-smitten,

Once carried Tithonus off to the world’s end:
Handsome and young he was then, yet at last
Grey age caught that spouse of an immortal wife.

***

Because you are dear to me

Marry a younger woman.
I don’t dare live with a young man—
I’m older.

***

Set are the Pleiades; the Moon is down

And midnight dark on high.
The hours, the hours, drift by,
And here I lie,
Alone