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The
Poetry of Sappho |
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Now
to please my little friend |
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Cyprus,
Paphos, or Panormus |
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What
shall we do, Cytherea? |
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Power
and beauty and knowledge |
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O Pan
of the evergreen forest |
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O Aphrodite |
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Peer
of the gods he seems |
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The
Cyprian came to thy cradle |
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Aphrodite
of the foam |
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Nay,
but always and forever |
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Let
there be garlands, Dica |
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When
the Cretan maidens |
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In a
dream I spoke with the Cyprus-born |
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Sleep
thou in the bosom |
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Hesperus,
bringing together |
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In the
grey olive-grove a small brown bird |
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In the
apple boughs the coolness |
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Pale
rose leaves have fallen |
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The
courtyard of her house is wide |
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There
is a medlar-tree |
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I behold
Arcturus going westward |
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Softly
the first step of twilight |
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Once
you lay upon my bosom |
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I loved
thee, Atthis, in the long ago |
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I shall
be ever maiden |
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It was
summer when I found you |
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I recall
thy white gown, cinctured |
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Lover,
art thou of a surety |
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With
your head thrown backward |
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Ah,
what am I but a torrent |
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Love
shakes my soul, like a mountain wind |
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Love,
let the wind cry |
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Heart
of mine if all the altars |
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Never
yet, love, in earth's lifetime |
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"Who
was Atthis?" men shall ask |
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When
the great pink mallow |
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When
I pass thy door at night |
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Well
I found you in the twilit garden |
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Will
not men remember us |
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I grow
weary of the foreign cities |
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Ah,
what detains thee, Phaon |
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Phaon,
O my lover |
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O heart
of insatiable longing |
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Surely
somehow, in some measure |
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O but
my delicate lover |
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Softer
than the hill-fog to the forest |
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I seek
and desire |
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Like
torn sea-kelp in the drift |
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Fine
woven purple linen |
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When
I am home from travel |
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When
I behold the pharos shine |
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Is the
day long |
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Lo,
on the distance a dark blue ravine |
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Art
thou the top-most apple |
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How
soon will all my lovely days be over |
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Soul
of sorrow, why this weeping? |
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It can
never be mine |
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Others
shall behold the sun |
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Let
thy strong spirit never fear |
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Will
none say of Sappho |
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When
I have departed |
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There
is no more to say, now thou art still |
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Play
up, play up thy silver flute |
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A beautiful
child is mine |
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Ah,
but now henceforth |
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Softly
the wind moves through the radiant morning |
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What
the west wind whispers |
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Indoors
the fire is kindled |
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You
ask how love can keep the mortal soul |
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Like
a tall forest were their spears |
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My lover
smiled, "O friend, ask not |
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Ye who
have the stable world |
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I heard
the gods reply |
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The
sun on the tide, the peach on the bough |
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If death
be good |
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Tell
me what this life means |
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Ye have
heard how Marsyas |
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Hour
by hour I sit |
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Once
in the shining street |
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How
strange is love, O my lover |
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How
to say I love you |
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Hark,
love, to the tambourines |
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Over
the roofs the honey-coloured moon |
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In the
quiet garden world |
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Soft
was the wind in the beech-trees |
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Have
you heard the news of Sappho's garden |
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Love
is so strong a thing |
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Hadst
thou, with all thy loveliness, been true |
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As,
on a morn, a traveller might emerge |
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Where
shall I look for thee |
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A sad,
sad face, and saddest eyes that ever |
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Why
have the gods in derision |
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Like
a red lily in the meadow grasses |
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When
in the spring the swallows all return |
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Cold
is the wind where Daphne sleeps |
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Hark,
where Poseidon's |
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Hark,
my lover, it is spring! |
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When
the early soft spring wind comes blowing |
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I am
more tremulous than shaken reeds |
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Over
the wheat-field |
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Once
more the rain on the mountain |
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Epilogue |
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Afterword
by
D.M.R. Bentley
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