31 (Sappho)

φαίνεταί μοι κῆνος ἴσος θέοισιν
ἔμμεν' ὤνηρ, ὄττις ἐνάντιός τοι
ἰσδάνει καὶ πλάσιον ἆδυ φονεί-
σας ὐπακούει

 καὶ γελαίσας ἰμέροεν, τό μ' ἦ μὰν
καρδίαν ἐν στήθεσιν ἐπτόαισεν·
ὠς γὰρ ἔς σ' ἴδω βρόχε', ὤς με φώναί-
σ' οὐδ' ἒν ἔτ' εἴκει,

 ἀλλά κὰμ μὲν γλῶσσα †ἔαγε†, λέπτον
δ' αὔτικα χρῷ πῦρ ὐπαδεδρόμηκεν,
ὀππάτεσσι δ' οὐδ' ἒν ὄρημμ', ἐπιρρόμ-
βεισι δ' ἄκουαι,

 κὰδ' δέ ἴδρως κακχέεται, τρόμος δὲ
παῖσαν ἄγρει, χλωροτέρα δὲ ποίας
ἔμμι, τεθνάκην δ' ὀλίγω 'πιδεύης
φαίνομ' ἔμ' αὔτᾳ.

That man seems to me happy as the blessed

gods, whoever sits by your side and listens

closely to your sweet conversation and your

laughter so lovely,

oh, it sets the heart in my breast to quaking,

for the very moment that I behold you,

in that instant, I can no longer speak one

word—I am struck dumb,

and my tongue is broken, and sudden fire

runs beneath my skin, quick and keen and tingling,

darkness takes my eyes, I am blinded, and my

ears fill with ringing,

sweat pours down my body, and then a trembling

seizes me completely, and I turn pallid,

paler than dry grass, and it seems to me I

stand at death's threshold.

1 (Sappho)

ποικιλόθρον' ἀθανάτ' Ἀφρόδιτα,
παῖ Δίος δολόπλοκε, λίσσομαί σε·
μή μ' ἄσαισι μηδ' ὀνίαισι δάμνα,
πότνια, θῦμον,

ἀλλὰ τυίδ' ἔλθ', αἴ ποτα κἀτέρωτα
τὰς ἔμας αὔδας ἀίοισα πήλοι
ἔκλυες, πάτρος δὲ δόμον λίποισα
χρύσιον ἦλθες

ἄρμ' ὐπασδεύξαισα· κάλοι δέ σ' ἆγον
ὤκεες στροῦθοι περὶ γᾶς μελαίνας
πύκνα δίννεντες πτέρ' ἀπ' ὠράνω ἴθε-
ρος διὰ μέσσω·

αἶψα δ' ἐξίκοντο· σὺ δ', ὦ μάκαιρα,
μειδιαίσαισ' ἀθανάτωι προσώπωι
ἤρε' ὄττι δηὖτε πέπονθα κὤττι
δηὖτε κάλημμι

κὤττι μοι μάλιστα θέλω γένεσθαι
μαινόλαι θύμωι· τίνα δηὖτε πείθω
.. σάγην ἐς σὰν φιλότατα; τίς σ', ὦ
Ψάπφ', ἀδικήει;

καὶ γὰρ αἰ φεύγει, ταχέως διώξει,
αἰ δὲ δῶρα μὴ δέκετ', ἀλλὰ δώσει,
αἰ δὲ μὴ φίλει, ταχέως φιλήσει
κoὐκ ἐθέλοισα.

ἔλθε μοι καὶ νῦν, χαλέπαν δὲ λῦσον
ἐκ μερίμναν, ὄσσα δέ μοι τέλεσσαι
θῦμος ἰμέρρει, τέλεσον, σὺ δ' αὔτα
σύμμαχος ἔσσο.


Richly-seated immortal Aphrodite,
Zeus's daughter, weaver of snares, I beg you,
do not lay my heart low with grief and sorrow,
goddess and lady,

but come here, if ever before you heard me,
heard my voice from far off and hearkened to it,
left your father's house and yoked up your golden
chariot; so you

came to me, and beautiful darting sparrows
drew you as you went with their quick wings whirring
over the black earth from the heavens down through
mid-air to meet me.

Suddenly you came, and then you, O blest one,
with a gentle smile on your deathless face, asked
what had happened this time, and why I'd called you
to help me this time,

and what I now most wanted in my maddened
heart to come to pass; “Whom shall I persuade to
be your darling this time? And who is it, my
Sappho, that wrongs you?

For if she flees, soon she will be pursuer;
if she spurns gifts, yet she will seek to give them;
if she does not love, she will soon be love-struck,
even unwilling."

Come to me once more, and from heavy trouble
free me, and accomplish what my heart longs to
be accomplished, and you yourself, O goddess,
be now my ally.

58 ("The New Sappho")

῎Υμμες πεδὰ Μοίσαν ἰ]οκ[ό]λπων κάλα δῶρα, παῖδες,
σπουδάσδετε καὶ τὰ]ν φιλἀοιδον λιγύραν χελύνναν·

ἔμοι δ᾽ἄπαλον πρίν] ποτ᾽ [ἔ]οντα χρόα γῆρας ἤδη
ἐπέλλαβε, λεῦκαι δ’ ἐγ]ένοντο τρίχες ἐκ μελαίναν·

βάρυς δέ μ’ ὀ [θ]ῦμος πεπόηται, γόνα δ’ [ο]ὐ φέροισι,
τὰ δή ποτα λαίψηρ’ ἔον ὄρχησθ’ ἴσα νεβρίοισι.

τὰ <μὲν> στεναχίσδω θαμέως· ἀλλὰ τί κεν ποείην;
ἀγήραον ἄνθρωπον ἔοντ᾽ οὐ δύνατον γένεσθαι.

καὶ γἀρ π[ο]τα Τίθωνον ἔφαντο βροδόπαχυν Αὔων
ἔρωι φ . . αθεισαν βάμεν’ εἰς ἔσχατα γᾶς φέροισα[ν,

ἔοντα [κ]άλον καὶ νέον, ἀλλ’ αὖτον ὔμως ἔμαρψε
χρόνωι πόλιον γῆρας, ἔχ[ο]ντ’ ἀθανάταν ἄκοιτιν.


You, girls, make haste to reap the lovely gifts
of the sweet Muses with their violet breasts,
and the clear-singing lyre.

My own once tender skin is now grown parched,
withered by age, and all my flowing hair
has turned from black to white;

my spirit sinks in heaviness; my knees
no longer bear me up, though once I danced
as lithely as a fawn.

So often I lament these things; but what
can one do? To be human, not grow old—
it is impossible.

For rosy-armed Aurora, so they say,
once bore away Tithonus for her love,
off to the wide world's end;

and beautiful and young as he was then,
yet grizzled age in time seized hold of him,
clasping his deathless wife.

48 (Sappho)

Δέδυκε μὲν ἀ σελάννα
καὶ Πληΐαδες, μέσαι δέ
νύκτες, πάρα δ' ἔρχετ' ὤρα,
ἔγω δὲ μόνα κατεύδω.

The moon has set,
and the Pleiades; it is
midnight, and time goes by,
and I lie down alone.