Poems List
Song of The Rose
F Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth,
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup
To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west.
Prayer to Our Lady of Paphos
Dapple-throned Aphrodite,
eternal daughter of God,
snare-knitter! Don't, I beg you,
cow my heart with grief! Come,
as once when you heard my faroff
cry and, listening, stepped
from your father's house to your
gold car, to yoke the pair whose
beautiful thick-feathered wings
oaring down mid-air from heaven
carried you to light swiftly
on dark earth; then, blissful one,
smiling your immortal smile
you asked, What ailed me now that
me call you again? What
was it that my distracted
heart most wanted? ``Whom has
Persuasion to bring round now
``to your love? Who, Sappho, is
unfair to you? For, let her
run, she will soon run after;
``if she won't accept gifts, she
will one day give them; and if
she won't love you --- she soon will
``love, although unwillingly...''
If ever --- come now! Relieve
this intolerable pain!
What my heart most hopes will
happen, make happen; you yourself
join forces on my side!
Sappho
tr. Barnard
Ode to a Loved One
LEST as the immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee, all the while,
Softly speaks and sweetly smile.
'Twas this deprived my soul of rest,
And raised such tumults in my breast;
For, while I gazed, in transport tossed,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost;
My bosom glowed; the subtle flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung;
In dewy damps my limbs were chilled;
My blood with gentle horrors thrilled:
My feeble pulse forgot to play;
I fainted, sunk, and died away.
Must I remind you, Clesis,
Must I remind you, Cleis,
that sounds of grief
are unbecmoming in
a poet's household?
and that they are not
suitable in ours?
[Note: "A poet's household" is more litterally one "dedicated to the Muses."]
Like the gods. . .
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
grass is and appear to myself to be little
short of dying.
But all must be endured, since even a poor [
It's no use
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
It is the Muses
It is the Muses
who have caused me
to be honred: they
taught me their craft
I took my lyre and said
I took my lyre and said:
Come now, my heavenly
tortoise shell: become
a speaking instrument
I have no complaint
I have no complaint
prosperity that
the golden Muses
gave me was no
delusion: dead, I
won't be forgotten
He is more than a hero
He is more than a hero
he is a god in my eyes--
the man who is allowed
to sit beside you -- he
who listens intimately
to the sweet murmur of
your voice, the enticing
laughter that makes my own
heart beat fast. If I meet
you suddenly, I can'
speak -- my tongue is broken;
a thin flame runs under
my skin; seeing nothing,
hearing only my own ears
drumming, I drip with sweat;
trembling shakes my body
and I turn paler than
dry grass. At such times
death isn't far from me
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