Calm night, modest rays of the descending
moon: and you, herald of the day,
that rise above the cliffs, among
the silent woods: you seemed dear
and pleasant to my eyes while I
was ignorant of fate and the Furies:
now no gentle prospect smiles on my despair.
For us an unaccustomed joy revives
only when the dust-filled flow of the south-wind
blows through the liquid air and over
the quivering fields, and when the chariot,
Jupiter’s heavy chariot, above our heads,
thunders, and splits the shadowy sky.
In cliffs or deepest valleys we take
joy in the storm, in the widespread flight
of the stricken flocks, or in the sound
and conquering fury of water,
on the shifting banks of the deep river.

      Your mantle is lovely, O sacred sky, and you
are lovely dew-wet earth. Ah, not one part
of that infinite beauty was granted
to wretched Sappho by the gods,
or pitiless fate. O Nature, I am only a humble
and troubled guest in your proud kingdom,
a lover scorned, and I turn heart and eyes
in vain, in supplication, towards
your graceful form. No sunlit place,
nor the dawn light at heaven’s gate
smiles on me: the brightly coloured birds
sing, but not for me, the murmur of the beech
trees is not for me: and where the bright river
shows its pure flood, beneath the shade
of the weeping willows, it draws back
its lithe waters disdainfully
from my sliding foot, touching
the perfumed shores in its retreat.

      What fault, what wicked excess
stained me at birth, that heaven turned
me towards ill and her face from fortune?
How did childhood, when life
is ignorant of wrong, sin, so that stripped
of youth, its flower, my iron-dark thread
was wound on the spindle
of indomitable Fate? Incautious words
spill from my lips: the events of destiny
move in hidden ways. All is hidden,
except our unhappiness. Neglected children
we are born to weep, and our purpose lies
in the lap of the gods. Oh the cares, the hopes
of our youth! But the Father gave dreams,
sweet dreams eternal dominion
over men: virtue in plain dress
does not shine among brave deeds
or learned lines of verse.

      We die. The worthless veil fallen to earth,
the naked spirit will fly towards Dis,
erasing the cruel error of the blind
dispenser of Fate. And you, live as happily
as any mortal ever lived on earth, you,
through whom a long unrequited love
long loyalty, and the vain fury
of implacable desire gripped me. Jupiter
has not sprinkled me with happiness
from his bitter jar, and my illusions died
with my childhood dreams. All
the happiest days of our youth are gone.
Illness follows: old age: and the shadow
of icy death. See, Tartarus is left
of all the prizes hoped for,
the sweet illusions: and the dark goddess,
black night, and the silent shore
confine the proud intellect.