“What is beautiful is good, and who is good will soon be beautiful.”

“yet if you had a desire for good or beautiful thingsand your tongue were not concocting some evil to sayshame would not hold down your eyesbut rather you would speak about what is just”

“Then you my goddess with your immortal lips smilingWould ask what now afflicts me, why againI am calling and what now I with my restive heartDesired: Whom now shall I beguile To bring you to her love? Who now injures you, Sappho? For if she flees, soon shall she chase And, rejecting gifts, soon shall she give. If she does not love you, she shall do so soon Whatsoever is her will.Come to me now to end this consuming painBringing what my heart desires to be brought:Be yourself my ally in this fight.”

“Some say thronging cavalry, some say foot soldiers, others call a fleet the most beautiful of sights the dark earth offers, but I say it's what- ever you love best.. . . .But that reminds me:now my Anactória is gone, and I'd rather see her lovely step, her sparkling glance and her face than gaze on all the troops in Lydia in their chariots and glittering armor.”

“Some say an army of horsemen,some of footsoldiers, some of ships,is the fairest thing on the black earth,but I say it is what one loves.It's very easy to make this clearto everyone, for Helen,by far surpassing mortals in beauty,left the best of all husbandsand sailed to Troy,mindful of neither her childnor her dear parents, butwith one glimpse she was seduced byAphrodite. For easily bent...and nimbly...[missing text]...has reminded me nowof Anactoria who is not here;I would much prefer to see the lovelyway she walks and the radiant glance of her facethan the war-chariots of the Lydians ortheir footsoldiers in arms.”

“]Sardisoften turning her thoughts here]you like a goddessand in your song most of all she rejoiced.But now she is conspicuous among Lydian womenas sometimes at sunsetthe rosyfingered moonsurpasses all the stars. And her lightstretches over salt seaequally and flowerdeep fields.And the beautiful dew is poured outand roses bloom and frailchervil and flowering sweetclover.But she goes back and forth rememberinggentle Atthis and in longingshe bites her tender mind”

“Girls, be good to these spirits of music and poetrythat breast your threshold with their scented gifts.Lift the lyre, clear and sweet, they leave with you.As for me, this body is now so arthriticI cannot play, hardly even hold the instrument.Can you believe my white hair was once black?And oh, the soul grows heavy with the body.Complaining knee-joints creak at every move.To think I danced as delicate as a deer!Some gloomy poems came from these thoughts:useless: we are all born to lose life,and what is worse, girls, to lose youth.The legend of the goddess of the dawnI’m sure you know: how rosy Eosmadly in love with gorgeous young Tithonusswept him like booty to her hiding-placebut then forgot he would grow old and greywhile she in despair pursued her immortal way.”