Selection from Sappho’s Lyre (University of California Press, 1991). Translation copyright 2000 Diane Rayor; all rights reserved.
| To me it seems | |
| that man has the fortune of gods, | |
| whoever sits beside you, and close, | |
| who listens to you sweetly speaking | |
| 5 | and laughing temptingly; |
| my heart flutters in my breast, | |
| whenever I look quickly, for a moment — | |
| I say nothing, my tongue broken, | |
| a delicate fire runs under my skin, | |
| 10 | my eyes see nothing, my ears roar, |
| cold sweat rushes down me, | |
| trembling seizes me, | |
| I am greener than grass, | |
| to myself I seem | |
| 15 | needing but little to die. |
| But all must be endured, since . . . |
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