XXVIII
…Ἔγω δὲ κῆν’ ὄττω
τις ἐρᾶται·
LOVE, fatal creature, bitter-sweet,
For my Alcaeus I entreat.
Should I not plead ?
To wasting fires
A secret prey I live,
Yet, Eros, that which he desires
I cannot give.
Who shall deliver him ? Lo, I,
For love of whom he soon will die,
Weep through the starry night oppressed
That he should love in vain.
Ah, can another mortal breast
Learn Sappho's pain !
When once his feet to me did stray,
He would forget the homeward way ;
And when he gazed I turned to greet
The grace within his eyes ;
With love it is such joy to meet
In any guise.
To him, O heavenly Muses, come !
He cannot live if he be dumb.
Leave me awhile. O let him feel
His heart set free in song ;
Hasten, for ye alone can heal
A lover's wrong.
