Gongyla and Kydro. And also the surpassing Knasidika of whom Sappho wrote:

"But you Dika, plait with your delicate fingers a wreath of anise to place upon your lovely hair."

And Atthis:

"I loved you, Atthis, long ago, when my own girlhood was still all flowers, and you seemed to me an awkward little child."

With the swoot came the bitter, when love she said was:

"A weaver of fictions...a bringer of pain... As for me, love has shaken my mind as a downrushing wind that falls upon the oak trees... Yet (love) is the beloved offspring of Earth and Heaven."

From then on, Sappho's life is lost in obscurity. Even her poetry has scarcely survived-the bulk of it being destroyed by fanatics in the early Christian ora. Slowly and painstakingly scholars have pieced together the remaining fragments of her poems, from quotations by other authors, or scraps that miraculously escaped the conflagration. And the so we may now read: with grief that so much has been lost, and with wonder that some of its beauty remains for our onjoyment.

Barbara Stephens

GEMS FROM SAPPHO

I render your beauty the sacrifice of all my thoughts, and worship you with all my senses.

Nor ever did the gathering sounds of early spring fill any wood with the chorus of the nightingale but you wandered thither with mo

Love can make a poet out of a boor.

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