but I say whatever
one loves, is
one loves, is
— Sappho, Poems and Fragments, trans. Stanley Lombardo (via proustitute)
It’s no use
Mother dear, I
can’t finish my
weaving.
You may
blame Aphrodite
soft as she is
she has almost
killed me with
love for that boy.
— Sappho, “Blame Aphrodite” (via sharingpoetry)
The gleaming stars all about the shining moon / hide their bright faces, when full-orbed and splendid / in the sky she floats, flooding the shadowed earth / with clear silver light.
— Sappho
