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10.0
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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 [
Sappho
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Read poems about / on: laughter, fire, heart
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