There was a story about using computers to check the likely date of one of her poems

SAPPHO AMONG THE ASTRONOMERS

Each day we know more. Knowledge in the net
And fish and random wood. Alone she slept
She doesn't say so we don't know she wept.
The moon was down. The Pleiades had set.

We count the stars roll backwards in their flight.
We've known her words speak truth about the heart
Of how love ends or tears and headaches start
We ascertain the week perhaps the night

She slept alone. Which makes it no more true
But somehow satisfies and warms the mind
With tiny certainties. I leave behind
Precise notations of my love for you.

Critics trust her nor me and speculate
A metaphor behind each lying date.