Reminded me of Anaktoria, who is gone. I would rather see her lovely step and the motion of light on her face than chariots of Lydians or ranks of footsoldiers in arms.

Dawn with arms of roses.

I use to weave crowns.

As sometimes at sunset the rosyfingered moon surpasses all the stars. And her light stretches over salt sea equally and flowerdeep fields.

And with precious and royal perfume you anointed yourself.

For me, neither the honey nor the bee.

In Ancient Greek literature male poets tend not simply to portray women as lecherous but to attribute to them a species of lust different from that of males: a subhuman and automatic reflex, an animalistic urge. Sappho is important because she gives a fulle human voice to female desire for the first time in Western history. Since she defiantly chooses the quintessential love-object Helen of Troy as her freethinking agent, she seems fully conscious of the revolutionary claim she is making.

I have a daughter who reminds me of A marigold in bloom. Kle.

How love the limb-loosener sweeps me away.

In the crooks of your body, I find my religon.