Sappho

(c. 600 BCE / Greece)

To Aphrodite - Poem by Sappho

You know the place: then
Leave Crete and come to us
waiting where the grove is
pleasantest, by precincts

sacred to you; incense
smokes on the altar, cold
streams murmur through the

apple branches, a young
rose thicket shades the ground
and quivering leaves pour

down deep sleep; in meadows
where horses have grown sleek
among spring flowers, dill

scents the air. Queen! Cyprian!
Fill our gold cups with love
stirred into clear nectar

Sappho
tr. Barnard


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Read poems about / on: spring, rose, sleep, love, flower, horse



Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002



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