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Come and lift my shaken soul to the sacred
Seize and uplift me; Thrill my heart that throbs with unwonted fervor,
Let your songs, that echo on winds of rapture, Wake the lyre he tunes to the sweet inspiring Sound of your voices.
Love for me, that ever upon perfection Trembles elusive.
When the moon at full on the sill of heaven Lights her beacon, flooding the earth with silver, All the shining stars that about her cluster Hide their fair faces;
For if I, the space of a moment even, Near to thee come, any word I would utter Instantly fails me;
Faintly one fair star of evening enkindles On the dusk afar its lone fire Œtean, Shining serene till the darkness will deepen Others to splendor; Bringing ineffable peace, and the gladsome Return with the night of all things that morning Ruthlessly parted, the child to its mother, Lover to lover.
Thou alone, Sappho, art sole with the silence, Sole with night and dreams that are darkness, weaving Thoughts that are sighs from the heart and their meaning Vague as the shadow; When the great silence shall come to thee, sad one, Men that forget shall remember thy music, Murmur thy name that shall steal on their passion Soft as the sleep wind.
Now that he is gone and my anger vanished, Keen regret and grief for the pain I gave him Pierce my heart, and fear of loss that is anguish Darkens the daylight.
Faithless, light-hearted Loved one, mine no more, who lovest another More than me; the silent flute and the faded Garlands haunt the heart of me thou forgettest, Long since thy lover.
But no one maid, I think, beneath the skies, At any time shall live and be as wise, In sooth, as I am; for the Muses Nine Have made me honored and their gifts are mine;
And men, I think, will never quite forget My songs or me; so long as stars shall set Or sun shall rise, or hearts feel love's desire, My voice shall cross their dreams, a sigh of fire.
Ah, for Adonis! See, he is dying, Fading as flowers With the lost summer.
No hint of grief should mar the features of Our dreams of endless beauty, lasting love; For they reflect the joy inviolate, Eternal calm that fronts whatever fate.
let thy smile Shine through thy tears and gladden me the while.
Whisper and never fear, For the beat of thy heart is mine.
I yearn For a youth that my eyes adore;
My heart by Love is thus With the sweetest of pain beguiled.
I do not think with my two arms to touch the sky, I do not dream to do almighty things; So small a singing bird may never soar so high, To beat the sapphire fire with baffled wings.
For one should check the words that start When anger spreads within the heart.
Love that endures when other loves are done.
And with the last her heart was turned to stone.
Are not my countless heart-beats each a vow, Of tribute
couldst thou fashion pain that stung less keen?
at my heart The God was aiming his relentless dart.
Why does the heart in thy bosom Ever revert in its yearning
Why are thy senses unsated Ever in quest of elusive Love that is deathless?
Thou art the breath of my body, The blood in my veins,
Now long neglect has quenched the olden fire,
Suffered the storms that waste the heart and leave A desert shore where seas but break to grieve.
The thought of me is hateful now, I know; And all the lavish tenderness of old Has gone from me and left my bosom cold.
No length of time may bid the heart forget.
never Toward you shall my feelings Undergo a change.
All the songs I give you Are the songs of love.
I am weary Of thy love's insistence,
Harassed by alternate Yielding and refusal, I was half persuaded Then to grant thy prayer. At my door thy presence Lingers like a shadow; Vain wouldst thou reproach me With appealing eyes. Dost thou think by constant Proofs of lasting passion, Slowly my obdurate Will to wear away?
Love must know reserve, Curbing power to keep it Keener for restraint.
He seemed to her, as to himself he seems, Like some bright God long treasured in her dreams;
Wilt kiss me now as then,
Thy smile, the clinging touch of lips and heart Anoint me, ere we part.
I yearn and seek But thee alone; and what I feel must speak In all these fond and wilful ways of mine,