Читать книгу Sapphic Classics - Sappho - Страница 45

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Phaon, O my lover,

What should so detain thee,

Now the wind comes walking

Through the leafy twilight?

All the plum-leaves quiver 5

With the coolth and darkness,

After their long patience

In consuming ardour.

And the moving grasses

Have relief; the dew-drench 10

Comes to quell the parching

Ache of noon they suffered.

I alone of all things

Fret with unsluiced fire.

And there is no quenching 15

In the night for Sappho,

Since her lover Phaon

Leaves her unrequited.