#ibykos

[virgin-martyr]

In Spring, quince trees irrigated with streams from rivers, in the Virgins' inviolate garden, and vinebuds growing beneath shady shoots of vinetwigs bloom. But for me Love rests for no season: blazing with lightning Thracian Boreas, darting from Kypris, dark with parching madness, shameless, violently shakes my senses from the depth

Ibykos, trans. by Diane Rayor from Sappho’s Lyre: Archaic Lyric and Women Poets of Ancient Greece

[youngmindancientheart]

...accompanied by parching madnesses, black, unastonishable, powerfully, right up from the bottom of my feet, [it] shakes my whole breathing being.

Ibykos

[antigonick]

Eros lies quiet at no season. Nay rather, like a Thracian north wind ablaze with lightning, rushing from Aphrodite accompanied by parching madnesses, black, unastonishable, powerfully, right up from the bottom of my feet, [it] shakes my whole breathing being.

Ibykos, excerpt of “Fr. 286″, translated by Anne Carson in Nay Rather

[virgin-martyr]

. . . And I killed the Molione boys, twins on white horses, same age two heads one body both born in a silver egg

Ibykos, trans. by Diane Rayor from Sappho’s Lyre: Archaic Lyric and Women Poets of Ancient Greece

[virgin-martyr]

Again Love, glancing meltingly beneath royal blue eyelids, with myriad enchantments throws me into the infinite nets of Kypris.

Ibykos, trans. by Diane Rayor from Sappho’s Lyre: Archaic Lyric and Women Poets of Ancient Greece