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Sappho 1

February 14, 2014

Various-minded deathless Aphrodite,
Child of Zeus, wile-weaver, I beseech you:
Neither with surfeit nor with sorrow break,
Mistress, my spirit.

No: come here, if ever othertimes
far off you heard this voice of mine
and listened: leaving father’s house
you came, your golden

chariot yoked, and beautiful the doves
that swiftly brought you ’round the black earth,
constantly whirling wings, from heaven through
the air between us —

at once they reached me. You, O Blessed,
a smile on your immortal visage,
asked what I’d suffered yet again, why yet
again I called you,

what most of all I wished would happen to me
in my mad spirit: “Whom shall I yet again
persuade to bring you back to her affections?
Who, Sappho, wrongs you?

For even if she flees, soon she’ll give chase;
the gifts she won’t accept — she’ll offer them;
and if she does not love you, soon she’ll love
even unwilling.”

Come to me now, too; free me from my grievous
cares, and accomplish for me all the things
my soul longs to accomplish; you yourself
be my companion.

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