Aphrodite's Praise

O Sappho, why art thou ever Singing with praises the blessed Queen of the heaven?

Why does the heart in thy bosom Ever revert in its yearning Throb to the Goddess?

Why are thy senses unsated Ever in quest of elusive Love that is deathless?

Ah, gracious Daughter of Cyprus, Never can I as a mortal Tire of thy service.

Thou art the breath of my body, The blood in my veins, and the glowing Pulse of my bosom.

Omnipotent, burning, resistless, Thou art the passion that shaking Masters me ever.

Thou art the crisis of rapture Relaxing my limbs, and the melting Ebb of emotion;

Bringing the tears to my lashes, Sighs to my lips, in the swooning Excess of passion.

O golden-crowned Aphrodite, Grant I shall ever be grateful, Sure of thy favor;

Worthy the lot of thy priestess, Supreme in the song that forever Rings with thy praises.