‘Wouldst thou fain see led to thy love, or who, my
Sappho, would wrong thee?’
‘Though she flees thee now, yet she soon shall woo thee,
Though thy gifts she scorneth, she soon shall bring gifts;
Though she loves thee not, yet she soon shall love thee,
Yea, though unwilling.’
Come, ah! come again, and from bitter anguish
Free thy servant. All that my heart is craving,
That fulfil, O goddess. Thyself, my champion,
Aid in this conflict.