Why should I praise thee, blissful Aphrodite?

Ψάπφοι, τί τὰν πολύολβον Ἀφροδιταν;

WHY should I praise thee, blissful Aphrodite ? 
     Wrong hast thou wrought 
Thy Sappho, thy flower-weaving one, who brought 
The fair, white goat, and poured the milky bowl, 
     Using thy mighty, 
Malignant craft to baulk me of m y goal; 
     Though all my days 
And starless nights I crown thee with my lays : 
     Why should I praise, 
Why should I praise thee, blissful Aphrodite ? 

Why should I praise thee, blissful Aphrodite ? 
     Thou dost not guide, 
Rather with conflict dire my mind divide ; 
For me the trembling boy grows honey-pale, 
     While for the mighty 
Fervours of Phaon's breast, without avail, 
     My mad heart prays. 
Win him, O Queen, who shunned to seek my gaze ! 
     Then will I praise, 
Then will I praise thee, blissful Aphrodite.