The omission of so many words (lost from the ancient texts) makes this more rumination than actual reading; some poems have only a line or two extant. Only one remains in its entirety. 
 Still, Sappho comes through. She exists in vibrant phrases - perhaps more wholly because she is so fractured; imagination fills in - her love for music, for dancing, for her daughter, her pleas to the gods - are desperate in their immediacy, although she's been dust for hundreds of years. 
 The original Greek is printed on the opposite page. Beautiful.