In my eyes he matches the gods, that man who
sits there facing you-any man whatever-
listening from closeby to the sweetness of your voice as you talk, the

sweetness of your laughter: yes, that-I swear it-
sets the heart to shaking inside my breast,
since once I look at you for a moment, I can’t speak any longer,

but my tongue breaks down, and then all at once a
subtle fire races inside my skin, my
eyes can’t see a thing and a whirring whistle thrums at my hearing,

cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes
ahold of me all over: I’m greener than the
grass is and appear to myself to be little short of dying.

But all must be endured, since even a poor....

--Sappho, translated by Jim Powell

Plate from Berkeley Poetry Walk

More details can be found here Click for the item in The ultimate street signs site