Sappho

Fragment 2

Come down from the sky . . .

Come back to me here once more in the festival time, 
to the sacred dingle, where stands your apple-grove of graceful 
				trees, 
where there are altars 
smoking with incense.  

Here through the apple-boughs trickles the sound of cool water, 
and the whole ground is shadowed with roses; 
down from the shimmering leaves 
flows the sleep of enchantment.

Here is a meadow, fit to graze horses, blooming with flowers of 
				spring, 
and sweetly the breezes are blowing . . . 

Here, now, come Aphrodite:
take nectar, exquisitely mixed, 
in cups made of gold 
pour out for our feasting.