From bonds of piercing agony
And gloomy care.
Yet come thyself, if e'er, benign,
Thy listening ears thou didst incline 10
To my rude lay, the starry shine
Of Jove's court leaving,
In chariot yoked with coursers fair,[1]
Thine own immortal birds that bear
Thee swift to earth, the middle air 15
With bright wings cleaving.
Soon they were sped—and thou, most blest,
In thine own smiles ambrosial dressed,
Didst ask what griefs my mind oppressed—
What meant my song— 20
What end my frenzied thoughts pursue—
For what loved youth I spread anew
My amorous nets—"Who, Sappho, who
Hath done thee wrong?
What though he fly, he'll soon return— 25
Still press thy gifts, though now he spurn;
Heed not his coldness—soon he'll burn,
E'en though thou chide."
—And saidst thou thus, dread goddess? O,
Come then once more to ease my woe; 30
Grant all, and thy great self bestow,
My shield and guide!
TO A LOVED ONE
Blest as the immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile.
- ↑ The chariot of Venus was drawn by doves.
