Sappho, Fragment 2He must be a god, who sits nearenough to listen to the lovelinessof your laughter, and the sweetnessof your voice. My breast is burstingwith blood eager to reacheach fingertip of my clenched fist.Even a glimpse from acrossthe room can make me forgethow to speak, how my tonguemoves between my teeth.And immediately a silken flameburns underneath my skin,my vision darkens, a clamor of ringingfills my ears, I become dampwith fever, and my body is seized by trembling.Then I am paler than winterwheat, and in this fit of madnessI am little better than dead.And, though it all is foolishness, still I will te