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Swiftly they vanished leaving thee, O goddess,

Smiling, with face immortal in its beauty,

Asking why I grieved, and why in utter longing

I had dared call thee;

Asking what I sought, thus hopeless in desiring,

Wildered in brain and spreading nets of passion:

Alas, for whom? and saidst thou, Who has harmed thee?

O my poor Sappho!

Though now he flies, ere long he shall pursue thee;

Fearing thy gifts, he too in turn shall bring them;

Loveless to-day, to-morrow he shall woo thee,

Though thou shouldst spurn him.

Thus seek me now, O holy Aphrodite!

Save me from anguish, give me all I ask for,

Gifts at thy hand; and thine shall be the glory,

Sacred protector!

There have been some other versions of the poem in English, but none particularly noteworthy. The Greek text of this great poem was preserved by Dionysius of Halicarnassus, who was living in Rome about A.D. 25. His praise of it was unstinted.