Come Here to Me from Crete

by Sappho

translated by Peter Saint-Andre

Come here to me from Crete, to your temple,
Where stands your lovely grove of apple trees,
Where holy altars smoke with frankincense;

Here cold water sounds through apple branches,
The ground is all carpeted with roses,
Enchanted sleep falls from shimmering leaves;

Here the field that's grazed by horses is lush
With spring flowers, here the winds sweetly blow

Here, O goddess, so gracefully you grasp
The golden cup, freely pouring like wine
The nectar all-mixed with our rejoicing.

Monadnock Valley Press > Sappho