Classic Poetry
Sappho
Although they are
Anactoria
And their feet move
Awed by her splendor
Before they were mothers
Blame Aphrodite
Cleis
Cyprian, in my dream
Drapple-thorned Aphrodite,
He is more than a hero
I have no complaint
I took my lyre
I took my lyre and said
In the spring twilight
It is the Muses
It was you, Atthis, who said
It's no use
Leto and Niobe
Must I remind you, Cleis,
No Word
Of course I love you
Prayer to Our Lady of Paphos
Sleep, darling
Sounds of grief
Standing by my bed
Tell everyone
The Muses
To Andromeda
To any army wife
To Aphrodite
Tonight I've watched
We know this much
We put the urn abord ship
We shall enjoy it
With his venom
Without warning
Words
Yes, Atthis, you may be sure
You know the place: then
You may forget but
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