Sappho: One Hundred Lyrics (version 2) — Verses 1 to 53

Cyprus, Paphos, or Panormus May detain thee with their splendour Of oblations on thine altars, O imperial Aphrodite.

Yet do thou regard, with pity 5 For a nameless child of passion, This small unfrequented valley By the sea, O sea-born mother.

II

What shall we do, Cytherea?

Lovely Adonis is dying.

Ah, but we mourn him!

Will he return when the Autumn Purples the earth, and the sunlight 5 Sleeps in the vineyard?

Will he return when the Winter Huddles the sheep, and Orion Goes to his hunting?

Ah, but thy beauty, Adonis, 10 With the soft spring and the south wind, Love and desire!

III

Power and beauty and knowledge,— Pan, Aphrodite, or Hermes,— Whom shall we life-loving mortals Serve and be happy?

Lo now, your garlanded altars, 5 Are they not goodly with flowers?

Have ye not honour and pleasure In lovely Lesbos?

Will ye not, therefore, a little Hearten, impel, and inspire 10 One who adores, with a favour Threefold in wonder?

IV

O Pan of the evergreen forest, Protector of herds in the meadows, Helper of men at their toiling,— Tillage and harvest and herding,— How many times to frail mortals 5 Hast thou not hearkened!

Now even I come before thee With oil and honey and wheat-bread, Praying for strength and fulfilment Of human longing, with purpose 10 Ever to keep thy great worship Pure and undarkened.

* * * * * O Hermes, master of knowledge, Measure and number and rhythm, Worker of wonders in metal, 15 Moulder of malleable music, So often the giver of secret Learning to mortals!

Now even I, a fond woman, Frail and of small understanding, 20 Yet with unslakable yearning Greatly desiring wisdom, Come to the threshold of reason And the bright portals.

* * * * * And thou, sea-born Aphrodite, 25 In whose beneficent keeping Earth, with her infinite beauty, Colour and fashion and fragrance, Glows like a flower with fervour Where woods are vernal!

30 Touch with thy lips and enkindle This moon-white delicate body, Drench with the dew of enchantment This mortal one, that I also Grow to the measure of beauty 35 Fleet yet eternal.

V

O Aphrodite, God-born and deathless, Break not my spirit With bitter anguish: Thou wilful empress, 5 I pray thee, hither!

As once aforetime Well thou didst hearken To my voice far off,— Listen, and leaving 10 Thy father’s golden House in yoked chariot, Come, thy fleet sparrows Beating the mid-air Over the dark earth.

15 Suddenly near me, Smiling, immortal, Thy bright regard asked What had befallen,— Why I had called thee,— 20 What my mad heart then Most was desiring.

“What fair thing wouldst thou Lure now to love thee?

“Who wrongs thee, Sappho?

25 If now she flies thee, Soon shall she follow;— Scorning thy gifts now, Soon be the giver;— And a loth loved one 30 “Soon be the lover.

” So even now, too, Come and release me From mordant love pain, And all my heart’s will 35 Help me accomplish!

VI

Peer of the gods he seems, Who in thy presence Sits and hears close to him Thy silver speech-tones And lovely laughter.

5 Ah, but the heart flutters Under my bosom, When I behold thee Even a moment;

Utterance leaves me; 10 My tongue is useless;

A subtle fire Runs through my body;

My eyes are sightless, And my ears ringing; 15 I flush with fever, And a strong trembling Lays hold upon me;

Paler than grass am I, Half dead for madness.

20 Yet must I, greatly Daring, adore thee, As the adventurous Sailor makes seaward For the lost sky-line 25 And undiscovered Fabulous islands, Drawn by the lure of Beauty and summer And the sea’s secret.

30 VII

The Cyprian came to thy cradle, When thou wast little and small, And said to the nurse who rocked thee “Fear not thou for the child: “She shall be kindly favoured, 5 And fair and fashioned well, As befits the Lesbian maidens And those who are fated to love.

” Hermes came to thy cradle, Resourceful, sagacious, serene, 10 And said, “The girl must have knowledge, To lend her freedom and poise.

Naught will avail her beauty, If she have not wit beside.

She shall be Hermes’ daughter, 15 Passing wise in her day.

” Great Pan came to thy cradle, With calm of the deepest hills, And smiled, “They have forgotten The veriest power of life.

20 “To kindle her shapely beauty, And illumine her mind withal, I give to the little person The glowing and craving soul.

” VIII

Aphrodite of the foam, Who hast given all good gifts, And made Sappho at thy will Love so greatly and so much, Ah, how comes it my frail heart 5 Is so fond of all things fair, I can never choose between Gorgo and Andromeda?

IX

Nay, but always and forever Like the bending yellow grain, Or quick water in a channel, Is the heart of man.

Comes the unseen breath in power 5 Like a great wind from the sea, And we bow before his coming, Though we know not why.

X

Let there be garlands, Dica, Around thy lovely hair.

And supple sprays of blossom Twined by thy soft hands.

Whoso is crowned with flowers 5 Has favour with the gods, Who have no kindly eyes For the ungarlanded.

XI

When the Cretan maidens Dancing up the full moon Round some fair new altar, Trample the soft blossoms of fine grass, There is mirth among them.

5 Aphrodite’s children Ask her benediction On their bridals in the summer night.

XII

In a dream I spoke with the Cyprus-born, And said to her, “Mother of beauty, mother of joy, Why hast thou given to men “This thing called love, like the ache of a wound 5 In beauty’s side, To burn and throb and be quelled for an hour And never wholly depart?

” And the daughter of Cyprus said to me, “Child of the earth, 10 Behold, all things are born and attain, But only as they desire,— “The sun that is strong, the gods that are wise, The loving heart, Deeds and knowledge and beauty and joy,— 15 But before all else was desire.

” XIII

Sleep thou in the bosom Of the tender comrade, While the living water Whispers in the well-run, And the oleanders 5 Glimmer in the moonlight.

Soon, ah, soon the shy birds Will be at their fluting, And the morning planet Rise above the garden; 10 For there is a measure Set to all things mortal.

XIV

Hesperus, bringing together All that the morning star scattered,— Sheep to be folded in twilight, Children for mothers to fondle,— Me too will bring to the dearest, 5 Tenderest breast in all Lesbos.

XV

In the grey olive-grove a small brown bird Had built her nest and waited for the spring.

But who could tell the happy thought that came To lodge beneath my scarlet tunic’s fold?

All day long now is the green earth renewed 5 With the bright sea-wind and the yellow blossoms.

From the cool shade I hear the silver plash Of the blown fountain at the garden’s end.

XVI

In the apple boughs the coolness Murmurs, and the grey leaves flicker Where sleep wanders.

In this garden all the hot noon I await thy fluttering footfall 5 Through the twilight.

XVII

Pale rose leaves have fallen In the fountain water;

And soft reedy flute-notes Pierce the sultry quiet.

But I wait and listen, 5 Till the trodden gravel Tells me, all impatience, It is Phaon’s footstep.

XVIII

The courtyard of her house is wide And cool and still when day departs.

Only the rustle of leaves is there And running water.

And then her mouth, more delicate 5 Than the frail wood-anemone, Brushes my cheek, and deeper grow The purple shadows.

XIX

There is a medlar-tree Growing in front of my lover’s house, And there all day The wind makes a pleasant sound.

And when the evening comes, 5 We sit there together in the dusk, And watch the stars Appear in the quiet blue.

XX

I behold Arcturus going westward Down the crowded slope of night-dark azure, While the Scorpion with red Antares Trails along the sea-line to the southward.

From the ilex grove there comes soft laughter,— 5 My companions at their glad love-making,— While that curly-headed boy from Naxos With his jade flute marks the purple quiet.

XXI

Softly the first step of twilight Falls on the darkening dial, One by one kindle the lights In Mitylene.

Noises are hushed in the courtyard, 5 The busy day is departing, Children are called from their games,— Herds from their grazing.

And from the deep-shadowed angles Comes the soft murmur of lovers, 10 Then through the quiet of dusk Bright sudden laughter.

From the hushed street, through the portal, Where soon my lover will enter, Comes the pure strain of a flute 15 Tender with passion.

XXII

Once you lay upon my bosom, While the long blue-silver moonlight Walked the plain, with that pure passion All your own.

Now the moon is gone, the Pleiads 5 Gone, the dead of night is going;

Slips the hour, and on my bed I lie alone.

XXIII

I loved thee, Atthis, in the long ago, When the great oleanders were in flower In the broad herded meadows full of sun.

And we would often at the fall of dusk Wander together by the silver stream, 5 When the soft grass-heads were all wet with dew, And purple-misted in the fading light.

And joy I knew and sorrow at thy voice, And the superb magnificence of love,— The loneliness that saddens solitude, 10 And the sweet speech that makes it durable,— The bitter longing and the keen desire, The sweet companionship through quiet days In the slow ample beauty of the world, And the unutterable glad release 15 Within the temple of the holy night.

O Atthis, how I loved thee long ago In that fair perished summer by the sea!

XXIV

I shall be ever maiden, If thou be not my lover, And no man shall possess me Henceforth and forever.

But thou alone shalt gather 5 This fragile flower of beauty,— To crush and keep the fragrance Like a holy incense.

Thou only shalt remember This love of mine, or hallow 10 The coming years with gladness, Calm and pride and passion.

XXV

It was summer when I found you In the meadow long ago,— And the golden vetch was growing By the shore.

Did we falter when love took us 5 With a gust of great desire?

Does the barley bid the wind wait In his course?

XXVI

I recall thy white gown, cinctured With a linen belt, whereon Violets were wrought, and scented With strange perfumes out of Egypt.

And I know thy foot was covered 5 With fair Lydian broidered straps;

And the petals from a rose-tree Fell within the marble basin.

XXVII

Lover, art thou of a surety Not a learner of the wood-god?

Has the madness of his music Never touched thee?

Ah, thou dear and godlike mortal, 5 If Pan takes thee for his pupil, Make me but another Syrinx For that piping.

XXVIII

With your head thrown backward In my arm’s safe hollow, And your face all rosy With the mounting fervour;

While the grave eyes greaten 5 With the wise new wonder, Swimming in a love-mist Like the haze of Autumn;

From that throat, the throbbing Nightingale’s for pleading, 10 Wayward, soft, and welling Inarticulate love-notes, Come the words that bubble Up through broken laughter, Sweeter than spring-water, 15 “Gods, I am so happy!

” XXIX

Ah, what am I but a torrent, Headstrong, impetuous, broken, Like the spent clamour of waters In the blue canyon?

Ah, what art thou but a fern-frond, 5 Wet with blown spray from the river, Diffident, lovely, sequestered, Frail on the rock-ledge?

Yet, are we not for one brief day, While the sun sleeps on the mountain, 10 Wild-hearted lover and loved one, Safe in Pan’s keeping?

XXX

Love shakes my soul, like a mountain wind Falling upon the trees, When they are swayed and whitened and bowed As the great gusts will.

I know why Daphne sped through the grove 5 When the bright god came by, And shut herself in the laurel’s heart For her silent doom.

Love fills my heart, like my lover’s breath Filling the hollow flute, 10 Till the magic wood awakes and cries With remembrance and joy.

Ah, timid Syrinx, do I not know Thy tremor of sweet fear?

For a beautiful and imperious player 15 Is the lord of life.

XXXI

Love, let the wind cry On the dark mountain, Bending the ash-trees And the tall hemlocks, With the great voice of 5 Thunderous legions, How I adore thee.

Let the hoarse torrent In the blue canyon, Murmuring mightily 10 Out of the grey mist Of primal chaos, Cease not proclaiming How I adore thee.

Let the long rhythm 15 Of crunching rollers, Breaking and bellowing On the white seaboard, Titan and tireless, Tell, while the world stands, 20 How I adore thee.

Love, let the clear call Of the tree-cricket, Frailest of creatures, Green as the young grass, 25 Mark with his trilling Resonant bell-note, How I adore thee.

Let the glad lark-song Over the meadow, 30 That melting lyric Of molten silver, Be for a signal To listening mortals, How I adore thee.

35 But more than all sounds, Surer, serener, Fuller with passion And exultation, Let the hushed whisper 40 In thine own heart say, How I adore thee.

XXXII

Heart of mine, if all the altars Of the ages stood before me, Not one pure enough nor sacred Could I find to lay this white, white Rose of love upon.

5 I who am not great enough to Love thee with this mortal body So impassionate with ardour, But oh, not too small to worship While the sun shall shine,— 10 I would build a fragrant temple To thee, in the dark green forest, Of red cedar and fine sandal, And there love thee with sweet service All my whole life long.

15 I would freshen it with flowers, And the piney hill-wind through it Should be sweetened with soft fervours Of small prayers in gentle language Thou wouldst smile to hear.

20 And a tinkling Eastern wind-bell, With its fluttering inscription, From the rafters with bronze music Should retard the quiet fleeting Of uncounted hours.

25 And my hero, while so human, Should be even as the gods are, In that shrine of utter gladness, With the tranquil stars above it And the sea below.

30 XXXIII

Never yet, love, in earth’s lifetime, Hath any cunningest minstrel Told the one seventh of wisdom, Ravishment, ecstasy, transport, Hid in the hue of the hyacinth’s 5 Purple in springtime.

Not in the lyre of Orpheus, Not in the songs of Musæus, Lurked the unfathomed bewitchment Wrought by the wind in the grasses, 10 Held by the rote of the sea-surf, In early summer.

Only to exquisite lovers, Fashioned for beauty’s fulfilment, Mated as rhythm to reed-stop 15 Whence the wild music is moulded, Ever appears the full measure Of the world’s wonder.

XXXIV

“Who was Atthis?

” men shall ask, When the world is old, and time Has accomplished without haste The strange destiny of men.

Haply in that far-off age 5 One shall find these silver songs, With their human freight, and guess What a lover Sappho was.

XXXV

When the great pink mallow Blossoms in the marshland, Full of lazy summer And soft hours, Then I hear the summons 5 Not a mortal lover Ever yet resisted, Strange and far.

In the faint blue foothills, Making magic music, 10 Pan is at his love-work On the reeds.

I can guess the heart-stop, Fall and lull and sequence, Full of grief for Syrinx 15 Long ago.

Then the crowding madness, Wild and keen and tender, Trembles with the burden Of great joy.

20 Nay, but well I follow, All unskilled, that fluting.

Never yet was reed-nymph Like to thee.

XXXVI

When I pass thy door at night I a benediction breathe: “Ye who have the sleeping world In your care, “Guard the linen sweet and cool, 5 Where a lovely golden head With its dreams of mortal bliss Slumbers now!

” XXXVII

Well I found you in the twilit garden, Laid a lover’s hand upon your shoulder, And we both were made aware of loving Past the reach of reason to unravel, Or the much desiring heart to follow.

5 There we heard the breath among the grasses And the gurgle of soft-running water, Well contented with the spacious starlight, The cool wind’s touch and the deep blue distance, Till the dawn came in with golden sandals.

10 XXXVIII

Will not men remember us In the days to come hereafter,— Thy warm-coloured loving beauty And my love for thee?

Thou, the hyacinth that grows 5 By a quiet-running river;

I, the watery reflection And the broken gleam.

XXXIX

I grow weary of the foreign cities, The sea travel and the stranger peoples.

Even the clear voice of hardy fortune Dares me not as once on brave adventure.

For the heart of man must seek and wander, 5 Ask and question and discover knowledge;

Yet above all goodly things is wisdom, And love greater than all understanding.

So, a mariner, I long for land-fall,— When a darker purple on the sea-rim, 10 O’er the prow uplifted, shall be Lesbos And the gleaming towers of Mitylene.

XL

Ah, what detains thee, Phaon, So long from Mitylene, Where now thy restless lover Wearies for thy coming?

A fever burns me, Phaon; 5 My knees quake on the threshold, And all my strength is loosened, Slack with disappointment.

But thou wilt come, my Phaon, Back from the sea like morning, 10 To quench in golden gladness The ache of parted lovers.

XLI

Phaon, O my lover, What should so detain thee, Now the wind comes walking Through the leafy twilight?

All the plum-leaves quiver 5 With the coolth and darkness, After their long patience In consuming ardour.

And the moving grasses Have relief; the dew-drench 10 Comes to quell the parching Ache of noon they suffered.

I alone of all things Fret with unsluiced fire.

And there is no quenching 15 In the night for Sappho, Since her lover Phaon Leaves her unrequited.

XLII

O heart of insatiable longing, What spell, what enchantment allures thee Over the rim of the world With the sails of the sea-going ships?

And when the rose-petals are scattered 5 At dead of still noon on the grass-plot, What means this passionate grief,— This infinite ache of regret?

XLIII

Surely somehow, in some measure, There will be joy and fulfilment,— Cease from this throb of desire,— Even for Sappho!

Surely some fortunate hour 5 Phaon will come, and his beauty Be spent like water to plenish Need of that beauty!

Where is the breath of Poseidon, Cool from the sea-floor with evening?

10 Why are Selene’s white horses So long arriving?

XLIV

O but my delicate lover, Is she not fair as the moonlight?

Is she not supple and strong For hurried passion?

Has not the god of the green world, 5 In his large tolerant wisdom, Filled with the ardours of earth Her twenty summers?

Well did he make her for loving;

Well did he mould her for beauty; 10 Gave her the wish that is brave With understanding.

“O Pan, avert from this maiden Sorrow, misfortune, bereavement, Harm, and unhappy regret,” 15 Prays one fond mortal.

XLV

Softer than the hill-fog to the forest Are the loving hands of my dear lover, When she sleeps beside me in the starlight And her beauty drenches me with rest.

As the quiet mist enfolds the beech-trees, 5 Even as she dreams her arms enfold me, Half awaking with a hundred kisses On the scarlet lily of her mouth.

XLVI

I seek and desire, Even as the wind That travels the plain And stirs in the bloom Of the apple-tree.

5 I wander through life, With the searching mind That is never at rest, Till I reach the shade Of my lover’s door.

10 XLVII

Like torn sea-kelp in the drift Of the great tides of the sea, Carried past the harbour-mouth To the deep beyond return, I am buoyed and borne away 5 On the loveliness of earth, Little caring, save for thee, Past the portals of the night.

XLVIII

Fine woven purple linen I bring thee from Phocæa, That, beauty upon beauty, A precious gift may cover The lap where I have lain.

5 And a gold comb, and girdle, And trinkets of white silver, And gems are in my sea-chest, Lest poor and empty-handed Thy lover should return.

10 And I have brought from Tyre A Pan-flute stained vermilion, Wherein the gods have hidden Love and desire and longing, Which I shall loose for thee.

15 XLIX

When I am home from travel, My eager foot will stay not Until I reach the threshold Where I went forth from thee.

And there, as darkness gathers 5 In the rose-scented garden, The god who prospers music Shall give me skill to play.

And thou shalt hear, all startled, A flute blown in the twilight, 10 With the soft pleading magic The green wood heard of old.

Then, lamp in hand, thy beauty In the rose-marble entry!

And unreluctant Hermes 15 Shall give me words to say.

L

When I behold the pharos shine And lay a path along the sea, How gladly I shall feel the spray, Standing upon the swinging prow;

And question of my pilot old, 5 How many watery leagues to sail Ere we shall round the harbour reef And anchor off the wharves of home!

LI

Is the day long, O Lesbian maiden, And the night endless In thy lone chamber In Mitylene?

5 All the bright day, Until welcome evening When the stars kindle Over the harbour, What tasks employ thee?

10 Passing the fountain At golden sundown, One of the home-going Traffickers, hast thou Thought of thy lover?

15 Nay, but how far Too brief will the night be, When I returning To the dear portal Hear my own heart beat!

20 LII

Lo, on the distance a dark blue ravine, A fold in the mountainous forests of fir, Cleft from the sky-line sheer down to the shore!

Above are the clouds and the white, pealing gulls, At its foot is the rough broken foam of the sea, 5 With ever anon the long deep muffled roar,— A sigh from the fitful great heart of the world.

Then inland just where the small meadow begins, Well bulwarked with boulders that jut in the tide, Lies safe beyond storm-beat the harbour in sun.

10 See where the black fishing-boats, each at its buoy, Ride up on the swell with their dare-danger prows, To sight o’er the sea-rim what venture may come!

And look, where the narrow white streets of the town Leap up from the blue water’s edge to the wood, 15 Scant room for man’s range between mountain and sea, And the market where woodsmen from over the hill May traffic, and sailors from far foreign ports With treasure brought in from the ends of the earth.

And see the third house on the left, with that gleam 20 Of red burnished copper—the hinge of the door Whereat I shall enter, expected so oft (Let love be your sea-star!

), to voyage no more.

LIII

Art thou the top-most apple The gatherers could not reach, Reddening on the bough?

Shall not I take thee?

Art thou a hyacinth blossom 5 The shepherds upon the hills Have trodden into the ground?

Shall not I lift thee?

Free is the young god Eros, Paying no tribute to power, 10 Seeing no evil in beauty, Full of compassion.

Once having found the beloved, However sorry or woeful, However scornful of loving, 15 Little it matters.