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.