These in brackets:
[You for] the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts
[be zealous,] girls, [and the] clear melodious lyre:
[but my once tender] body old age now
[has seized;] my hair’s turned [white] instead of dark;
my heart’s grown heavy, my knees will not support me,
that once on a time were fleet for the dance as fawns.
This state I oft bemoan; but what’s to do?
Not to grow old, being human, there’s no way.
Tithonus once, the tale was, rose-armed Dawn,
love-smitten, carried off to the world’s end,
handsome and young then, yet in time grey age
o'ertook him, husband of immortal wife.
And here is the first few lines without:
the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts
girls, clear melodious lyre:
body old age now
my hair’s turned instead of dark;
But I do want to think that Sappho went on to appreciate her gnarled limbs, tough as olive trees. And I have to confess that for me, now, there is only Carson's translations... I did at one time love Mary Barnard's translations. Now they seem so even, so orderly, so Poundish, so thoroughly "modern", that I am aware of how little I was hearing "Sappho" in the poems. Perhaps now I'm only hearing Carson, but it seemed to me that when I first read her translations aloud a shiver ran up my spine and really, it seemed I could hear the rustle of thighs as she reached for something cool to drink, so parched was she after waiting all these years to speak...