Atthis: a Sapphic Ode 1
(Hardly anything is known about Sappho, but no-one seriously
doubts her greatness as a poet. She lived on the Greek island
of Lesbos (hence “Lesbian”) in the seventh century BC. All that
has survived of her work is a scattering of scraps, but even this
meagre evidence establishes her as one of the foremost poets
of all time.)
I.
Waking at dawn,
with lilac boats of cloud
threading through heaven's
cool aquamarine
like afterthoughts of night,
I yearn to sing of you
as prettily as I can,
to do you honour, Atthis,
and give pleasure to our friends.
Dawn crept into our room
in her sandals of gold
and, stooping over the bed,
kissed me free of sleep's lax bonds.
This life of ours is brief, Atthis,
so let us love without restraint.
We, two vermillion hyacinths,
lending our grace to a mountain path,
should blaze before
some shepherd, unknowing,
treads us underfoot
till all of us that remains
is a red stain in the sand.
It is a short flight
from dawn to night,
but do not despair, my love.
We will bestow it yet
with a thousand beauties.
I love everything that
caresses me. I love the hot wind
redolent of wild thyme,
and the strong, gentle hand
of the sun on my breasts.
I love the honesty of mountain water
and the gorgeous bloom
which freshens the gnarled gorse,
surprising him with happiness.
And yes, I love you too, Atthis,
with buttercups in your hair.
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