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Sappho - To Atthis The Inconstant
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I loved thee, Atthis, — even thee! —

Ah, long ago!
As Aphrodite`s handmaid bright
As gold wert thou then in my sight.
A very queen of love to me

Then didst thou show.
Fair gifts I sent thee — `broidery
Of golden thread whose shimmering light
Flashed mid the purple on thy knee,

A gleam and glow.
Then I knew not thine heart aright:

But now I know!
Thou incarnate false inconstancy —

To whom I grow
A thing to hate! — thou takest flight
On wings of love to — who is she?
A rustic wench whose garments flow
About her heels ungracefully!

O yea, let thy false love requite
Andromeda`s worship! Take delight
In her — thou who from my love`s height
Hast sunk so low!
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