PoeForward.com

POETRY: Ancient Classical Modern Contemporary

ANCIENT: Propertius Catullus

Sappho

HOME

POE

EVENTS

POETRY

GALLERIES

DEAD GIRLS

LIBRARY

ABOUT US

SAPPHO FRAGMENTS

"Do I still long for maidenhood?"

Gentle Adonis wounded lies, dying, dying.
What message, O Cythera, dost thou send?
Beat, beat your white breasts, O ye weeping maidens,
And in wild grief your mourning garments rend.

But thou shalt ever lie dead nor shall there be any remembrance of thee then or ever, for thou hast none of the roses of Pieria; but thou shalt wander unnoticed, even in the houses of Hades, flitting among the shadowy dead.

Forever shalt thou lie dead, nor shall there be any remembrance of thee now or hereafter, for never has thou had any of the roses of Pieria; but thou shalt wander, eternally unregarded in the houses of Hades, flitting among the insubstantial shades.

No maiden, I think, more wise than thou
Shall ever see the sun.

What rustic girl bewitches thee,
Who cannot even draw
Her garments neat as they should be,
Her ankles roundabout?

I love refinement and for me
Love has the splendour and beauty of the sun.

Sleep thou, in the bosom of thy sweetheart.

A fair daughter have I, Cleis by name,
Like a golden flower she seems to me.
Far more than all Lydia, her do I love,
Or Lesbos shimmering in the sea.

My sweet mother! Fair Aphrodite's spell
Has from me sense and reason all bereft,
And, yearning for that dear beloved youth,
No longer can I see the warp or weft.

Hail, gentle Evening, that bringst back
All things that bright morning hath beguiled.
Thou bringst the lamb, thou bringst the kid,
And to its mother, her drowsy child.

Ever shall I be a maid.

Thou happy bridegroom! Now has dawned
That day of days supreme,
When in thine arms thou'lt hold at last
The maiden of thy dream.

And a sweet expression spreads over her fair face.

He should be good who is fair of face,
And he will be fair whose soul has grace.

Do I still long for maidenhood?

The bride [comes] rejoicing, let the bridegroom also rejoice.
To what may I liken thee, dear bridegroom?
Best to a tender shoot may I liken thee.
Hail bride, and all hail! noble bridegroom.
For, like her, O bridegroom, there was no other maiden.
Maidenhood, maidenhood, whither art thou gone from me?
Never, O, never again, shall I return to thee.

[A thing] much whiter than an egg.

Neither honey nor bee for me.

Stir not the pebbles.
Thou burnest us.

This is the dust of Timas, whom, unwed,
Persephone locked in her darksome bed:
For her, the maids who were her fellows, shore
Their curls and to her tomb this tribute bore.

A most tender maiden gathering flowers.

Far sweeter than the throbbing lyre in sound,
A voice more golden than gold, new found.

With rosy cheeks and glancing eyes and voices sweet as honey.