Seeing little, I imagine much

 …"Watching makes my heart beat fast because, seeing little, I imagine much. 
You put a fire in my cheeks.
Speech won’t come. My ears ring.
Blind to all others, I sweat and I stammer. 
I am a trembling thing, like grass,
an inch from dying. 
So poor I’ve nothing to lose, I must gamble…" – Sappho

How can 6th century poetry feel so modern? I suppose sentiment is an interminable thing.