path: root/old/12389.txt

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sappho: One Hundred Lyrics, by Bliss Carman

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Sappho: One Hundred Lyrics

Author: Bliss Carman

Release Date: May 20, 2004 [EBook #12389]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAPPHO: ONE HUNDRED LYRICS ***




Produced by David Starner, Robert Connal and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.





SAPPHO


ONE HUNDRED LYRICS
BY
BLISS CARMAN



1907




"SAPPHO WHO BROKE OFF A FRAGMENT OF HER SOUL
FOR US TO GUESS AT."


"SAPPHO, WITH THAT GLORIOLE
OF EBON HAIR ON CALMED BROWS--
O POET-WOMAN! NONE FORGOES
THE LEAP, ATTAINING THE REPOSE."

    E.B. BROWNING.




INTRODUCTION

THE POETRY OF SAPPHO.--If all the poets and all the lovers of poetry should
be asked to name the most precious of the priceless things which time has
wrung in tribute from the triumphs of human genius, the answer which would
rush to every tongue would be "The Lost Poems of Sappho." These we know to
have been jewels of a radiance so imperishable that the broken gleams of
them still dazzle men's eyes, whether shining from the two small brilliants
and the handful of star-dust which alone remain to us, or reflected merely
from the adoration of those poets of old time who were so fortunate as to
witness their full glory.

For about two thousand five hundred years Sappho has held her place as not
only the supreme poet of her sex, but the chief lyrist of all lyrists.
Every one who reads acknowledges her fame, concedes her supremacy; but to
all except poets and Hellenists her name is a vague and uncomprehended
splendour, rising secure above a persistent mist of misconception. In spite
of all that is in these days being written about Sappho, it is perhaps not
out of place now to inquire, in a few words, into the substance of this
supremacy which towers so unassailably secure from what appear to be such
shadowy foundations.

First, we have the witness of her contemporaries. Sappho was at the height
of her career about six centuries before Christ, at a period when lyric
poetry was peculiarly esteemed and cultivated at the centres of Greek life.
Among the _Molic_ peoples of the Isles, in particular, it had been carried
to a high pitch of perfection, and its forms had become the subject of
assiduous study. Its technique was exact, complex, extremely elaborate,
minutely regulated; yet the essential fires of sincerity, spontaneity,
imagination and passion were flaming with undiminished heat behind the
fixed forms and restricted measures. The very metropolis of this lyric
realm was Mitylene of Lesbos, where, amid the myrtle groves and temples,
the sunlit silver of the fountains, the hyacinth gardens by a soft blue
sea, Beauty and Love in their young warmth could fuse the most rigid forms
to fluency. Here Sappho was the acknowledged queen of song--revered,
studied, imitated, served, adored by a little court of attendants and
disciples, loved and hymned by Alcaeus, and acclaimed by her fellow
craftsmen throughout Greece as the wonder of her age. That all the tributes
of her contemporaries show reverence not less for her personality than for
her genius is sufficient answer to the calumnies with which the ribald
jesters of that later period, the corrupt and shameless writers of Athenian
comedy, strove to defile her fame. It is sufficient, also, to warrant our
regarding the picturesque but scarcely dignified story of her vain pursuit
of Phaon and her frenzied leap from the Cliff of Leucas as nothing more
than a poetic myth, reminiscent, perhaps, of the myth of Aphrodite and
Adonis--who is, indeed, called Phaon in some versions. The story is further
discredited by the fact that we find no mention of it in Greek literature--
even among those Attic comedians who would have clutched at it so eagerly
and given it so gross a turn--till a date more than two hundred years after
Sappho's death. It is a myth which has begotten some exquisite literature,
both in prose and verse, from Ovid's famous epistle to Addison's gracious
fantasy and some impassioned and imperishable dithyrambs of Mr. Swinburne;
but one need not accept the story as a fact in order to appreciate the
beauties which flowered out from its coloured unreality.

The applause of contemporaries, however, is not always justified by the
verdict of after-times, and does not always secure an immortality of
renown. The fame of Sappho has a more stable basis. Her work was in the
world's possession for not far short of a thousand years--a thousand years
of changing tastes, searching criticism, and familiar use. It had to endure
the wear and tear of quotation, the commonizing touch of the school and the
market-place. And under this test its glory grew ever more and more
conspicuous. Through those thousand years poets and critics vied with one
another in proclaiming her verse the one unmatched exemplar of lyric art.
Such testimony, even though not a single fragment remained to us from which
to judge her poetry for ourselves, might well convince us that the
supremacy acknowledged by those who knew all the triumphs of the genius of
old Greece was beyond the assault of any modern rival. We might safely
accept the sustained judgment of a thousand years of Greece.

Fortunately for us, however, two small but incomparable odes and a few
scintillating fragments have survived, quoted and handed down in the
eulogies of critics and expositors. In these the wisest minds, the greatest
poets, and the most inspired teachers of modern days have found
justification for the unanimous verdict of antiquity. The tributes of
Addison, Tennyson, and others, the throbbing paraphrases and ecstatic
interpretations of Swinburne, are too well known to call for special
comment in this brief note; but the concise summing up of her genius by Mr.
Watts-Dunton in his remarkable essay on poetry is so convincing and
illuminating that it seems to demand quotation here: "Never before these
songs were sung, and never since did the human soul, in the grip of a fiery
passion, utter a cry like hers; and, from the executive point of view, in
directness, in lucidity, in that high, imperious verbal economy which only
nature can teach the artist, she has no equal, and none worthy to take the
place of second."

The poems of Sappho so mysteriously lost to us seem to have consisted of at
least nine books of odes, together with _epithalamia_, epigrams,
elegies, and monodies. Of the several theories which have been advanced to
account for their disappearance, the most plausible seems to be that which
represents them as having been burned at Byzantium in the year 380 Anno
Domini, by command of Gregory Nazianzen, in order that his own poems might
be studied in their stead and the morals of the people thereby improved. Of
the efficacy of this act no means of judging has come down to us.

In recent years there has arisen a great body of literature upon the
subject of Sappho, most of it the abstruse work of scholars writing for
scholars. But the gist of it all, together with the minutest surviving
fragment of her verse, has been made available to the general reader in
English by Mr. Henry T. Wharton, in whose altogether admirable little
volume we find all that is known and the most apposite of all that has been
said up to the present day about

  "Love's priestess, mad with pain and joy of song,
  Song's priestess, mad with joy and pain of love."

Perhaps the most perilous and the most alluring venture in the whole field
of poetry is that which Mr. Carman has undertaken in attempting to give us
in English verse those lost poems of Sappho of which fragments have
survived. The task is obviously not one of translation or of paraphrasing,
but of imaginative and, at the same time, interpretive construction. It is
as if a sculptor of to-day were to set himself, with reverence, and trained
craftsmanship, and studious familiarity with the spirit, technique, and
atmosphere of his subject, to restore some statues of Polyclitus or
Praxiteles of which he had but a broken arm, a foot, a knee, a finger upon
which to build. Mr. Carman's method, apparently, has been to imagine each
lost lyric as discovered, and then to translate it; for the indefinable
flavour of the translation is maintained throughout, though accompanied by
the fluidity and freedom of purely original work.

C.G.D. ROBERTS.




Now to please my little friend
I must make these notes of spring,
With the soft south-west wind in them
And the marsh notes of the frogs.

I must take a gold-bound pipe,
And outmatch the bubbling call
From the beechwoods in the sunlight,
From the meadows in the rain.




CONTENTS

         Now to please my little friend

I        Cyprus, Paphos, or Panormus

II       What shall we do, Cytherea?

III      Power and beauty and knowledge

IV       O Pan of the evergreen forest

V        O Aphrodite

VI       Peer of the gods he seems

VII      The Cyprian came to thy cradle

VIII     Aphrodite of the foam

IX       Nay, but always and forever

X        Let there be garlands, Dica

XI       When the Cretan maidens

XII      In a dream I spoke with the Cyprus-born

XIII     Sleep thou in the bosom

XIV      Hesperus, bringing together

XV       In the grey olive-grove a small brown bird

XVI      In the apple-boughs the coolness

XVII     Pale rose-leaves have fallen

XVIII    The courtyard of her house is wide

XIX      There is a medlar-tree

XX       I behold Arcturus going westward

XXI      Softly the first step of twilight

XXII     Once you lay upon my bosom

XXIII    I loved thee, Atthis, in the long ago

XXIV     I shall be ever maiden

XXV      It was summer when I found you

XXVI     I recall thy white gown, cinctured

XXVII    Lover, art thou of a surety

XXVIII   With your head thrown backward

XXIX     Ah, what am I but a torrent

XXX      Love shakes my soul, like a mountain wind

XXXI     Love, let the wind cry

XXXII    Heart of mine, if all the altars

XXXIII   Never yet, love, in earth's lifetime

XXXIV    "Who was Atthis?" men shall ask

XXXV     When the great pink mallow

XXXVI    When I pass thy door at night

XXXVII   Well I found you in the twilit garden

XXXVIII  Will not men remember us

XXXIX    I grow weary of the foreign cities

XL       Ah, what detains thee, Phaon

XLI      Phaon, O my lover

XLII     O heart of insatiable longing

XLIII    Surely somehow, in some measure

XLIV     O but my delicate lover

XLV      Softer than the hill-fog to the forest

XLVI     I seek and desire

XLVII    Like torn sea-kelp in the drift

XLVIII   Fine woven purple linen

XLIX     When I am home from travel

L        When I behold the pharos shine

LI       Is the day long

LII      Lo, on the distance a dark blue ravine

LIII     Art thou the topmost apple

LIV      How soon will all my lovely days be over

LV       Soul of sorrow, why this weeping?

LVI      It never can be mine

LVII     Others shall behold the sun

LVIII    Let thy strong spirit never fear

LIX      Will none say of Sappho

LX       When I have departed

LXI      There is no more to say, now thou art still

LXII     Play up, play up thy silver flute

LXIII    A beautiful child is mine

LXIV     Ah, but now henceforth

LXV      Softly the wind moves through the radiant morning

LXVI     What the west wind whispers

LXVII    Indoors the fire is kindled

LXVIII   You ask how love can keep the mortal soul

LXIX     Like a tall forest were their spears

LXX      My lover smiled, "O friend, ask not

LXXI     Ye who have the stable world

LXXII    I heard the gods reply

LXXIII   The sun on the tide, the peach on the bough

LXXIV    If death be good

LXXV     Tell me what this life means

LXXVI    Ye have heard how Marsyas

LXXVII   Hour by hour I sit

LXXVIII  Once in the shining street

LXXIX    How strange is love, O my lover

LXXX     How to say I love you

LXXXI    Hark, love, to the tambourines

LXXXII   Over the roofs the honey-coloured moon

LXXXIII  In the quiet garden world

LXXXIV   Soft was the wind in the beech-trees

LXXXV    Have ye heard the news of Sappho's garden

LXXXVI   Love is so strong a thing

LXXXVII  Hadst thou with all thy loveliness been true

LXXXVIII As on a morn a traveller might emerge

LXXXIX   Where shall I look for thee

XC       O sad, sad face and saddest eyes that ever

XCI      Why have the gods in derision

XCII     Like a red lily in the meadow grasses

XCIII    When in the spring the swallows all return

XCIV     Cold is the wind where Daphne sleeps

XCV      Hark, where Poseidon's

XCVI     Hark, my lover, it is spring!

XCVII    When the early soft spring-wind comes blowing

XCVIII   I am more tremulous than shaken reeds

XCIX     Over the wheat field

C        Once more the rain on the mountain

         Epilogue




SAPPHO




I


Cyprus, Paphos, or Panormus
May detain thee with their splendour
Of oblations on thine altars,
O imperial Aphrodite.

Yet do thou regard, with pity                                             5
For a nameless child of passion,
This small unfrequented valley
By the sea, O sea-born mother.




II


What shall we do, Cytherea?
Lovely Adonis is dying.
  Ah, but we mourn him!

Will he return when the Autumn
Purples the earth, and the sunlight                                       5
  Sleeps in the vineyard?

Will he return when the Winter
Huddles the sheep, and Orion
  Goes to his hunting?

Ah, but thy beauty, Adonis,                                              10
With the soft spring and the south wind,
  Love and desire!




III


Power and beauty and knowledge,--
Pan, Aphrodite, or Hermes,--
Whom shall we life-loving mortals
  Serve and be happy?

Lo now, your garlanded altars,                                            5
Are they not goodly with flowers?
Have ye not honour and pleasure
  In lovely Lesbos?

Will ye not, therefore, a little
Hearten, impel, and inspire                                              10
One who adores, with a favour
  Threefold in wonder?




IV


O Pan of the evergreen forest,
Protector of herds in the meadows,
Helper of men at their toiling,--
Tillage and harvest and herding,--
How many times to frail mortals                                           5
  Hast thou not hearkened!

Now even I come before thee
With oil and honey and wheat-bread,
Praying for strength and fulfilment
Of human longing, with purpose                                           10
Ever to keep thy great worship
  Pure and undarkened.

       *       *       *       *       *

O Hermes, master of knowledge,
Measure and number and rhythm,
Worker of wonders in metal,                                              15
Moulder of malleable music,
So often the giver of secret
  Learning to mortals!

Now even I, a fond woman,
Frail and of small understanding,                                        20
Yet with unslakable yearning
Greatly desiring wisdom,
Come to the threshold of reason
  And the bright portals.

       *       *       *       *       *

And thou, sea-born Aphrodite,                                            25
In whose beneficent keeping
Earth, with her infinite beauty,
Colour and fashion and fragrance,
Glows like a flower with fervour
  Where woods are vernal!                                                30

Touch with thy lips and enkindle
This moon-white delicate body,
Drench with the dew of enchantment
This mortal one, that I also
Grow to the measure of beauty                                            35
  Fleet yet eternal.




V


O Aphrodite,
God-born and deathless,
Break not my spirit
With bitter anguish:
Thou wilful empress,                                                      5
I pray thee, hither!

As once aforetime
Well thou didst hearken
To my voice far off,--
Listen, and leaving                                                      10
Thy father's golden
House in yoked chariot,

Come, thy fleet sparrows
Beating the mid-air
Over the dark earth.                                                     15
Suddenly near me,
Smiling, immortal,
Thy bright regard asked

What had befallen,--
Why I had called thee,--                                                 20
What my mad heart then
Most was desiring.
"What fair thing wouldst thou
Lure now to love thee?

"Who wrongs thee, Sappho?                                                25
If now she flies thee,
Soon shall she follow;--
Scorning thy gifts now,
Soon be the giver;--
And a loth loved one                                                     30

"Soon be the lover."
So even now, too,
Come and release me
From mordant love pain,
And all my heart's will                                                  35
Help me accomplish!




VI


Peer of the gods he seems,
Who in thy presence
Sits and hears close to him
Thy silver speech-tones
And lovely laughter.                                                      5

Ah, but the heart flutters
Under my bosom,
When I behold thee
Even a moment;
Utterance leaves me;                                                     10

My tongue is useless;
A subtle fire
Runs through my body;
My eyes are sightless,
And my ears ringing;                                                     15

I flush with fever,
And a strong trembling
Lays hold upon me;
Paler than grass am I,
Half dead for madness.                                                   20

Yet must I, greatly
Daring, adore thee,
As the adventurous
Sailor makes seaward
For the lost sky-line                                                    25

And undiscovered
Fabulous islands,
Drawn by the lure of
Beauty and summer
And the sea's secret.                                                    30




VII


The Cyprian came to thy cradle,
When thou wast little and small,
And said to the nurse who rocked thee
"Fear not thou for the child:

"She shall be kindly favoured,                                            5
And fair and fashioned well,
As befits the Lesbian maidens
And those who are fated to love."

Hermes came to thy cradle,
Resourceful, sagacious, serene,                                          10
And said, "The girl must have knowledge,
To lend her freedom and poise.

Naught will avail her beauty,
If she have not wit beside.
She shall be Hermes' daughter,                                           15
Passing wise in her day."

Great Pan came to thy cradle,
With calm of the deepest hills,
And smiled, "They have forgotten
The veriest power of life.                                               20

"To kindle her shapely beauty,
And illumine her mind withal,
I give to the little person
The glowing and craving soul."




VIII


Aphrodite of the foam,
Who hast given all good gifts,
And made Sappho at thy will
Love so greatly and so much,

Ah, how comes it my frail heart                                           5
Is so fond of all things fair,
I can never choose between
Gorgo and Andromeda?




IX


Nay, but always and forever
Like the bending yellow grain,
Or quick water in a channel,
Is the heart of man.

Comes the unseen breath in power                                          5
Like a great wind from the sea,
And we bow before his coming,
Though we know not why.




X


Let there be garlands, Dica,
Around thy lovely hair.
And supple sprays of blossom
Twined by thy soft hands.

Whoso is crowned with flowers                                             5
Has favour with the gods,
Who have no kindly eyes
For the ungarlanded.




XI


When the Cretan maidens
Dancing up the full moon
Round some fair new altar,
Trample the soft blossoms of fine grass,

There is mirth among them.                                                5
Aphrodite's children
Ask her benediction
On their bridals in the summer night.




XII


In a dream I spoke with the Cyprus-born,
  And said to her,
"Mother of beauty, mother of joy,
Why hast thou given to men

"This thing called love, like the ache of a wound                         5
  In beauty's, side,
To burn and throb and be quelled for an hour
And never wholly depart?"

And the daughter of Cyprus said to me,
  "Child of the earth,                                                   10
Behold, all things are born and attain,
But only as they desire,---

"The sun that is strong, the gods that are wise,
  The loving heart,
Deeds and knowledge and beauty and joy,--                                15
But before all else was desire."




XIII


Sleep thou in the bosom
Of the tender comrade,
While the living water
Whispers in the well-run,
And the oleanders                                                         5
Glimmer in the moonlight.

Soon, ah, soon the shy birds
Will be at their fluting,
And the morning planet
Rise above the garden;                                                   10
For there is a measure
Set to all things mortal.




XIV


Hesperus, bringing together
All that the morning star scattered,--

Sheep to be folded in twilight,
Children for mothers to fondle,--

Me too will bring to the dearest,                                         5
Tenderest breast in all Lesbos.




XV


In the grey olive-grove a small brown bird
Had built her nest and waited for the spring.
But who could tell the happy thought that came
To lodge beneath my scarlet tunic's fold?

All day long now is the green earth renewed                               5
With the bright sea-wind and the yellow blossoms.
From the cool shade I hear the silver plash
Of the blown fountain at the garden's end.




XVI


In the apple boughs the coolness
Murmurs, and the grey leaves flicker
Where sleep wanders.

In this garden all the hot noon
I await thy fluttering footfall                                           5
Through the twilight.




XVII


Pale rose leaves have fallen
In the fountain water;
And soft reedy flute-notes
Pierce the sultry quiet.

But I wait and listen,                                                    5
Till the trodden gravel
Tells me, all impatience,
It is Phaon's footstep.




XVIII


The courtyard of her house is wide
And cool and still when day departs.
Only the rustle of leaves is there
  And running water.

And then her mouth, more delicate                                         5
Than the frail wood-anemone,
Brushes my cheek, and deeper grow
  The purple shadows.




XIX


There is a medlar-tree
Growing in front of my lover's house,
  And there all day
The wind makes a pleasant sound.

And when the evening comes,                                               5
We sit there together in the dusk,
  And watch the stars
Appear in the quiet blue.




XX


I behold Arcturus going westward
Down the crowded slope of night-dark azure,
While the Scorpion with red Antares
Trails along the sea-line to the southward.

From the ilex grove there comes soft laughter,--                          5
My companions at their glad love-making,--
While that curly-headed boy from Naxos
With his jade flute marks the purple quiet.




XXI


Softly the first step of twilight
Falls on the darkening dial,
One by one kindle the lights
  In Mitylene.

Noises are hushed in the courtyard,                                       5
The busy day is departing,
Children are called from their games,--
  Herds from their grazing.

And from the deep-shadowed angles
Comes the soft murmur of lovers,                                         10
Then through the quiet of dusk
  Bright sudden laughter.

From the hushed street, through the portal,
Where soon my lover will enter,
Comes the pure strain of a flute                                         15
  Tender with passion.




XXII


Once you lay upon my bosom,
While the long blue-silver moonlight
Walked the plain, with that pure passion
  All your own.

Now the moon is gone, the Pleiads                                         5
Gone, the dead of night is going;
Slips the hour, and on my bed
  I lie alone.




XXIII


I loved thee, Atthis, in the long ago,
When the great oleanders were in flower
In the broad herded meadows full of sun.
And we would often at the fall of dusk
Wander together by the silver stream,                                     5
When the soft grass-heads were all wet with dew,
And purple-misted in the fading light.
And joy I knew and sorrow at thy voice,
And the superb magnificence of love,--
The loneliness that saddens solitude,                                    10
And the sweet speech that makes it durable,--
The bitter longing and the keen desire,
The sweet companionship through quiet days
In the slow ample beauty of the world,
And the unutterable glad release                                         15
Within the temple of the holy night.
O Atthis, how I loved thee long ago
In that fair perished summer by the sea!




XXIV


I shall be ever maiden,
If thou be not my lover,
And no man shall possess me
Henceforth and forever.

But thou alone shalt gather                                               5
This fragile flower of beauty,--
To crush and keep the fragrance
Like a holy incense.

Thou only shalt remember
This love of mine, or hallow                                             10
The coming years with gladness,
Calm and pride and passion.




XXV


It was summer when I found you
In the meadow long ago,--
And the golden vetch was growing
  By the shore.

Did we falter when love took us                                           5
With a gust of great desire?
Does the barley bid the wind wait
  In his course?




XXVI


I recall thy white gown, cinctured
With a linen belt, whereon
Violets were wrought, and scented
With strange perfumes out of Egypt.

And I know thy foot was covered                                           5
With fair Lydian broidered straps;
And the petals from a rose-tree
Fell within the marble basin.




XXVII


Lover, art thou of a surety
Not a learner of the wood-god?
Has the madness of his music
  Never touched thee?

Ah, thou dear and godlike mortal,                                         5
If Pan takes thee for his pupil,
Make me but another Syrinx
  For that piping.




XXVIII


With your head thrown backward
In my arm's safe hollow,
And your face all rosy
With the mounting fervour;

While the grave eyes greaten                                              5
With the wise new wonder,
Swimming in a love-mist
Like the haze of Autumn;

From that throat, the throbbing
Nightingale's for pleading,                                              10
Wayward, soft, and welling
Inarticulate love-notes,

Come the words that bubble
Up through broken laughter,
Sweeter than spring-water,                                               15
"Gods, I am so happy!"




XXIX


Ah, what am I but a torrent,
Headstrong, impetuous, broken,
Like the spent clamour of waters
  In the blue canyon?

Ah, what art thou but a fern-frond,                                       5
Wet with blown spray from the river,
Diffident, lovely, sequestered,
  Frail on the rock-ledge?

Yet, are we not for one brief day,
While the sun sleeps on the mountain,                                    10
Wild-hearted lover and loved one,
  Safe in Pan's keeping?




XXX


Love shakes my soul, like a mountain wind
  Falling upon the trees,
When they are swayed and whitened and bowed
  As the great gusts will.

I know why Daphne sped through the grove                                  5
  When the bright god came by,
And shut herself in the laurel's heart
  For her silent doom.

Love fills my heart, like my lover's breath
  Filling the hollow flute,                                              10
Till the magic wood awakes and cries
  With remembrance and joy.

Ah, timid Syrinx, do I not know
  Thy tremor of sweet fear?
For a beautiful and imperious player                                     15
  Is the lord of life.




XXXI


Love, let the wind cry
On the dark mountain,
Bending the ash-trees
And the tall hemlocks,
With the great voice of                                                   5
Thunderous legions,
How I adore thee.

Let the hoarse torrent
In the blue canyon,
Murmuring mightily                                                       10
Out of the grey mist
Of primal chaos,
Cease not proclaiming
How I adore thee.

Let the long rhythm                                                      15
Of crunching rollers,
Breaking and bellowing
On the white seaboard,
Titan and tireless,
Tell, while the world stands,                                            20
How I adore thee.

Love, let the clear call
Of the tree-cricket,
Frailest of creatures,
Green as the young grass,                                                25
Mark with his trilling
Resonant bell-note,
How I adore thee.

Let the glad lark-song
Over the meadow,                                                         30
That melting lyric
Of molten silver,
Be for a signal
To listening mortals,
How I adore thee.                                                        35

But more than all sounds,
Surer, serener,
Fuller with passion
And exultation,
Let the hushed whisper                                                   40
In thine own heart say,
How I adore thee.




XXXII


Heart of mine, if all the altars
Of the ages stood before me,
Not one pure enough nor sacred
Could I find to lay this white, white
  Rose of love upon.                                                      5

I who am not great enough to
Love thee with this mortal body
So impassionate with ardour,
But oh, not too small to worship
  While the sun shall shine,--                                           10

I would build a fragrant temple
To thee, in the dark green forest,
Of red cedar and fine sandal,
And there love thee with sweet service
  All my whole life long.                                                15

I would freshen it with flowers,
And the piney hill-wind through it
Should be sweetened with soft fervours
Of small prayers in gentle language
  Thou wouldst smile to hear.                                            20

And a tinkling Eastern wind-bell,
With its fluttering inscription,
From the rafters with bronze music
Should retard the quiet fleeting
  Of uncounted hours.                                                    25

And my hero, while so human,
Should be even as the gods are,
In that shrine of utter gladness,
With the tranquil stars above it
  And the sea below.                                                     30




XXXIII

Never yet, love, in earth's lifetime,
Hath any cunningest minstrel
Told the one seventh of wisdom,
Ravishment, ecstasy, transport,
Hid in the hue of the hyacinth's                                          5
  Purple in springtime.

Not in the lyre of Orpheus,
Not in the songs of Musaeus,
Lurked the unfathomed bewitchment
Wrought by the wind in the grasses,                                      10
Held by the rote of the sea-surf,
  In early summer.

Only to exquisite lovers,
Fashioned for beauty's fulfilment,
Mated as rhythm to reed-stop                                             15
Whence the wild music is moulded,
Ever appears the full measure
  Of the world's wonder.




XXXIV


"Who was Atthis?" men shall ask,
When the world is old, and time
Has accomplished without haste
The strange destiny of men.

Haply in that far-off age                                                 5
One shall find these silver songs,
With their human freight, and guess
What a lover Sappho was.




XXXV


When the great pink mallow
Blossoms in the marshland,
Full of lazy summer
And soft hours,

Then I hear the summons                                                   5
Not a mortal lover
Ever yet resisted,
Strange and far.

In the faint blue foothills,
Making magic music,                                                      10
Pan is at his love-work
On the reeds.

I can guess the heart-stop,
Fall and lull and sequence,
Full of grief for Syrinx                                                 15
Long ago.

Then the crowding madness,
Wild and keen and tender,
Trembles with the burden
Of great joy.                                                            20

Nay, but well I follow,
All unskilled, that fluting.
Never yet was reed-nymph
Like to thee.




XXXVI


When I pass thy door at night
I a benediction breathe:
"Ye who have the sleeping world
  In your care,

"Guard the linen sweet and cool,                                          5
Where a lovely golden head
With its dreams of mortal bliss
  Slumbers now!"




XXXVII


Well I found you in the twilit garden,
Laid a lover's hand upon your shoulder,
And we both were made aware of loving
Past the reach of reason to unravel,
Or the much desiring heart to follow.                                     5

There we heard the breath among the grasses
And the gurgle of soft-running water,
Well contented with the spacious starlight,
The cool wind's touch and the deep blue distance,
Till the dawn came in with golden sandals.                               10




XXXVIII


Will not men remember us
In the days to come hereafter,--
Thy warm-coloured loving beauty
  And my love for thee?

Thou, the hyacinth that grows                                             5
By a quiet-running river;
I, the watery reflection
  And the broken gleam.



XXXIX


I grow weary of the foreign cities,
The sea travel and the stranger peoples.
Even the clear voice of hardy fortune
Dares me not as once on brave adventure.

For the heart of man must seek and wander,                                5
Ask and question and discover knowledge;
Yet above all goodly things is wisdom,
And love greater than all understanding.

So, a mariner, I long for land-fall,--
When a darker purple on the sea-rim,                                     10
O'er the prow uplifted, shall be Lesbos
And the gleaming towers of Mitylene.




XL


Ah, what detains thee, Phaon,
So long from Mitylene,
Where now thy restless lover
Wearies for thy coming?

A fever burns me, Phaon;                                                  5
My knees quake on the threshold,
And all my strength is loosened,
Slack with disappointment.

But thou wilt come, my Phaon,
Back from the sea like morning,                                          10
To quench in golden gladness
The ache of parted lovers.




XLI


Phaon, O my lover,
What should so detain thee,

Now the wind comes walking
Through the leafy twilight?

All the plum-leaves quiver                                                5
With the coolth and darkness,

After their long patience
In consuming ardour.

And the moving grasses
Have relief; the dew-drench                                              10

Comes to quell the parching
Ache of noon they suffered.

I alone of all things
Fret with unsluiced fire.

And there is no quenching                                                15
In the night for Sappho,

Since her lover Phaon
Leaves her unrequited.




XLII


O heart of insatiable longing,
What spell, what enchantment allures thee
Over the rim of the world
With the sails of the sea-going ships?

And when the rose-petals are scattered                                    5
At dead of still noon on the grass-plot,
What means this passionate grief,--
This infinite ache of regret?




XLIII


Surely somehow, in some measure,
There will be joy and fulfilment,--
Cease from this throb of desire,--
  Even for Sappho!

Surely some fortunate hour                                                5
Phaon will come, and his beauty
Be spent like water to plenish
  Need of that beauty!

Where is the breath of Poseidon,
Cool from the sea-floor with evening?                                    10
Why are Selene's white horses
  So long arriving?




XLIV


O but my delicate lover,
Is she not fair as the moonlight?
Is she not supple and strong
  For hurried passion?

Has not the god of the green world,                                       5
In his large tolerant wisdom,
Filled with the ardours of earth
  Her twenty summers?

Well did he make her for loving;
Well did he mould her for beauty;                                        10
Gave her the wish that is brave
  With understanding.

"O Pan, avert from this maiden
Sorrow, misfortune, bereavement,
Harm, and unhappy regret,"                                               15
  Prays one fond mortal.




XLV


Softer than the hill-fog to the forest
Are the loving hands of my dear lover,
When she sleeps beside me in the starlight
And her beauty drenches me with rest.

As the quiet mist enfolds the beech-trees,                                5
Even as she dreams her arms enfold me,
Half awaking with a hundred kisses
On the scarlet lily of her mouth.




XLVI


I seek and desire,
Even as the wind
That travels the plain
And stirs in the bloom
Of the apple-tree.                                                        5

I wander through life,
With the searching mind
That is never at rest,
Till I reach the shade
Of my lover's door.                                                      10




XLVII


Like torn sea-kelp in the drift
Of the great tides of the sea,
Carried past the harbour-mouth
To the deep beyond return,

I am buoyed and borne away                                                5
On the loveliness of earth,
Little caring, save for thee,
Past the portals of the night.




XLVIII


Fine woven purple linen
I bring thee from Phocaea,
That, beauty upon beauty,
A precious gift may cover
The lap where I have lain.                                                5

And a gold comb, and girdle,
And trinkets of white silver,
And gems are in my sea-chest,
Lest poor and empty-handed
Thy lover should return.                                                 10

And I have brought from Tyre
A Pan-flute stained vermilion,
Wherein the gods have hidden
Love and desire and longing,
Which I shall loose for thee.                                            15




XLIX


When I am home from travel,
My eager foot will stay not
Until I reach the threshold
Where I went forth from thee.

And there, as darkness gathers                                            5
In the rose-scented garden,
The god who prospers music
Shall give me skill to play.

And thou shalt hear, all startled,
A flute blown in the twilight,                                           10
With the soft pleading magic
The green wood heard of old.

Then, lamp in hand, thy beauty
In the rose-marble entry!
And unreluctant Hermes                                                   15
Shall give me words to say.




L


When I behold the pharos shine
And lay a path along the sea,
How gladly I shall feel the spray,
Standing upon the swinging prow;

And question of my pilot old,                                             5
How many watery leagues to sail
Ere we shall round the harbour reef
And anchor off the wharves of home!




LI


Is the day long,
O Lesbian maiden,
And the night endless
In thy lone chamber
In Mitylene?                                                              5

All the bright day,
Until welcome evening
When the stars kindle
Over the harbour,
What tasks employ thee?                                                  10

Passing the fountain
At golden sundown,
One of the home-going
Traffickers, hast thou
Thought of thy lover?                                                    15

Nay, but how far
Too brief will the night be,
When I returning
To the dear portal
Hear my own heart beat!                                                  20




LII


Lo, on the distance a dark blue ravine,
A fold in the mountainous forests of fir,
Cleft from the sky-line sheer down to the shore!

Above are the clouds and the white, pealing gulls,
At its foot is the rough broken foam of the sea,                          5
With ever anon the long deep muffled roar,--
A sigh from the fitful great heart of the world.

Then inland just where the small meadow begins,
Well bulwarked with boulders that jut in the tide,
Lies safe beyond storm-beat the harbour in sun.                          10

See where the black fishing-boats, each at its buoy,
Ride up on the swell with their dare-danger prows,
To sight o'er the sea-rim what venture may come!

And look, where the narrow white streets of the town
Leap up from the blue water's edge to the wood,                          15
Scant room for man's range between mountain and sea,
And the market where woodsmen from over the hill
May traffic, and sailors from far foreign ports
With treasure brought in from the ends of the earth.

And see the third house on the left, with that gleam                     20
Of red burnished copper--the hinge of the door
Whereat I shall enter, expected so oft
(Let love be your sea-star!), to voyage no more.




LIII


Art thou the top-most apple
The gatherers could not reach,
Reddening on the bough?
  Shall not I take thee?

Art thou a hyacinth blossom                                               5
The shepherds upon the hills
Have trodden into the ground?
  Shall not I lift thee?

Free is the young god Eros,
Paying no tribute to power,                                              10
Seeing no evil in beauty,
  Full of compassion.

Once having found the beloved,
However sorry or woeful,
However scornful of loving,                                              15
  Little it matters.




LIV


How soon will all my lovely days be over,
And I no more be found beneath the sun,--
Neither beside the many-murmuring sea,
Nor where the plain-winds whisper to the reeds,
Nor in the tall beech-woods among the hills                               5
Where roam the bright-lipped Oreads, nor along
The pasture-sides where berry-pickers stray
And harmless shepherds pipe their sheep to fold!

For I am eager, and the flame of life
Burns quickly in the fragile lamp of clay.                               10
Passion and love and longing and hot tears
Consume this mortal Sappho, and too soon
A great wind from the dark will blow upon me,
And I be no more found in the fair world,
For all the search of the revolving moon                                 15
And patient shine of everlasting stars.




LV


Soul of sorrow, why this weeping?
What immortal grief hath touched thee
With the poignancy of sadness,--
  Testament of tears?

Have the high gods deigned to show thee                                   5
Destiny, and disillusion
Fills thy heart at all things human,
  Fleeting and desired?

Nay, the gods themselves are fettered
By one law which links together                                          10
Truth and nobleness and beauty,
  Man and stars and sea.

And they only shall find freedom
Who with courage rise and follow
Where love leads beyond all peril,                                       15
  Wise beyond all words.




LVI


It never can be mine
To sit in the door in the sun
And watch the world go by,
A pageant and a dream;

For I was born for love,                                                  5
And fashioned for desire,
Beauty, passion, and joy,
And sorrow and unrest;

And with all things of earth
Eternally must go,                                                       10
Daring the perilous bourn
Of joyance and of death,

A strain of song by night,
A shadow on the hill,
A hint of odorous grass,                                                 15
A murmur of the sea.




LVII


Others shall behold the sun
Through the long uncounted years,--
Not a maid in after time
  Wise as thou!

For the gods have given thee
Their best gift, an equal mind                                            5
That can only love, be glad,
  And fear not.




LVIII


Let thy strong spirit never fear,
Nor in thy virgin soul be thou afraid.
The gods themselves and the almightier fates
Cannot avail to harm

With outward and misfortunate chance                                      5
The radiant unshaken mind of him
Who at his being's centre will abide,
Secure from doubt and fear.

His wise and patient heart shall share
The strong sweet loveliness of all things made,                          10
And the serenity of inward joy
Beyond the storm of tears.




LIX


Will none say of Sappho,
Speaking of her lovers,
And the love they gave her,--
Joy and days and beauty,
Flute-playing and roses,                                                  5
Song and wine and laughter,--

Will none, musing, murmur,
"Yet, for all the roses,
All the flutes and lovers,
Doubt not she was lonely                                                 10
As the sea, whose cadence
Haunts the world for ever."




LX


When I have departed,
Say but this behind me,
"Love was all her wisdom,
  All her care.

"Well she kept love's secret,--                                           5
Dared and never faltered,--
Laughed and never doubted
  Love would win.

"Let the world's rough triumph
Trample by above her,                                                    10
She is safe forever
  From all harm.

"In a land that knows not
Bitterness nor sorrow,
She has found out all                                                    15
  Of truth at last."




LXI


There is no more to say now thou art still,
There is no more to do now thou art dead,
There is no more to know now thy clear mind
Is back returned unto the gods who gave it.

Now thou art gone the use of life is past,                                5
The meaning and the glory and the pride,
There is no joyous friend to share the day,
And on the threshold no awaited shadow.




LXII


Play up, play up thy silver flute;
The crickets all are brave;
Glad is the red autumnal earth
  And the blue sea.

Play up thy flawless silver flute;                                        5
Dead ripe are fruit and grain.
When love puts on his scarlet coat,
  Put off thy care.




LXIII


A beautiful child is mine,
Formed like a golden flower,
Cleis the loved one.
And above her I value
Not all the Lydian land,                                                  5
Nor lovely Hellas.




LXIV


Ah, but now henceforth
Only one meaning
Has life for me.

Only one purport,
Measure and beauty,                                                       5
Has the bright world.

What mean the wood-winds,
Colour and morning,
Bird, stream, and hill?

And the brave city                                                       10
With its enchantment?
Thee, only thee!




LXV


Softly the wind moves through the radiant morning,
And the warm sunlight sinks into the valley,
Filling the green earth with a quiet joyance,
  Strength, and fulfilment.

Even so, gentle, strong and wise and happy,                               5
Through the soul and substance of my being,
Comes the breath of thy great love to me-ward,
  O thou dear mortal.




LXVI


What the west wind whispers
At the end of summer,
When the barley harvest
Ripens to the sickle,
  Who can tell?                                                           5

What means the fine music
Of the dry cicada,
Through the long noon hours
Of the autumn stillness,
  Who can say?                                                           10

How the grape ungathered
With its bloom of blueness
Greatens on the trellis
Of the brick-walled garden,
  Who can know?                                                          15

Yet I, too, am greatened,
Keep the note of gladness,
Travel by the wind's road,
Through this autumn leisure,--
  By thy love.                                                           20




LXVII


Indoors the fire is kindled;
Beechwood is piled on the hearthstone;
Cold are the chattering oak-leaves;
And the ponds frost-bitten.

Softer than rainfall at twilight,                                         5
Bringing the fields benediction
And the hills quiet and greyness,
Are my long thoughts of thee.

How should thy friend fear the seasons?
They only perish of winter                                               10
Whom Love, audacious and tender,
Never hath visited.




LXVIII


You ask how love can keep the mortal soul
Strong to the pitch of joy throughout the years.

Ask how your brave cicada on the bough
Keeps the long sweet insistence of his cry;

Ask how the Pleiads steer across the night                                5
In their serene unswerving mighty course;

Ask how the wood-flowers waken to the sun,
Unsummoned save by some mysterious word;

Ask how the wandering swallows find your eaves
Upon the rain-wind with returning spring;                                10

Ask who commands the ever-punctual tide
To keep the pendulous rhythm of the sea;

And you shall know what leads the heart of man
To the far haven of his hopes and fears.




LXIX


Like a tall forest were their spears,
Their banners like a silken sea,
When the great host in splendour passed
Across the crimson sinking sun.

And then the bray of brazen horns                                         5
Arose above their clanking march,
As the long waving column filed
Into the odorous purple dusk.

O lover, in this radiant world
Whence is the race of mortal men,                                        10
So frail, so mighty, and so fond,
That fleets into the vast unknown?




LXX


My lover smiled, "O friend, ask not
The journey's end, nor whence we are.
That whistling boy who minds his goats
So idly in the grey ravine,

"The brown-backed rower drenched with spray,                              5
The lemon-seller in the street,
And the young girl who keeps her first
Wild love-tryst at the rising moon,--

"Lo, these are wiser than the wise.
And not for all our questioning                                          10
Shall we discover more than joy,
Nor find a better thing than love!

"Let pass the banners and the spears,
The hate, the battle, and the greed;
For greater than all gifts is peace,                                     15
And strength is in the tranquil mind."




LXXI


Ye who have the stable world
In the keeping of your hands.
Flocks and men, the lasting hills,
And the ever-wheeling stars;

Ye who freight with wondrous things                                       5
The wide-wandering heart of man
And the galleon of the moon,
On those silent seas of foam;

Oh, if ever ye shall grant
Time and place and room enough                                           10
To this fond and fragile heart
Stifled with the throb of love,

On that day one grave-eyed Fate,
Pausing in her toil, shall say,
"Lo, one mortal has achieved                                             15
Immortality of love!"




LXXII


I heard the gods reply:
"Trust not the future with its perilous chance;
The fortunate hour is on the dial now.

"To-day be wise and great,
And put off hesitation and go forth                                       5
With cheerful courage for the diurnal need.

"Stout be the heart, nor slow
The foot to follow the impetuous will,
Nor the hand slack upon the loom of deeds.

"Then may the Fates look up                                              10
And smile a little in their tolerant way,
Being full of infinite regard for men."




LXXIII


The sun on the tide, the peach on the bough,
The blue smoke over the hill,
And the shadows trailing the valley-side,
Make up the autumn day.

Ah, no, not half! Thou art not here                                       5
Under the bronze beech-leaves,
And thy lover's soul like a lonely child
Roams through an empty room.




LXXIV


If death be good,
Why do the gods not die?
If life be ill,
Why do the gods still live?

If love be naught,                                                        5
Why do the gods still love?
If love be all,
What should men do but love?




LXXV


Tell me what this life means,
O my prince and lover,
With the autumn sunlight
On thy bronze-gold head?

With thy clear voice sounding                                             5
Through the silver twilight,--
What is the lost secret
Of the tacit earth?




LXXVI


Ye have heard how Marsyas,
In the folly of his pride,
Boasted of a matchless skill,--
When the great god's back was turned;

How his fond imagining                                                    5
Fell to ashes cold and grey,
When the flawless player came
In serenity and light.

So it was with those I loved
In the years ere I loved thee.                                           10
Many a saying sounds like truth,
Until Truth itself is heard.

Many a beauty only lives
Until Beauty passes by,
And the mortal is forgot                                                 15
In the shadow of the god.




LXXVII


Hour by hour I sit,
Watching the silent door.
Shadows go by on the wall,
And steps in the street.

Expectation and doubt                                                     5
Flutter my timorous heart.
So many hurrying home--
And thou still away.




LXXVIII


Once in the shining street,
In the heart of a seaboard town,
As I waited, behold, there came
The woman I loved.

As when, in the early spring,                                             5
A daffodil blooms in the grass,
Golden and gracious and glad,
The solitude smiled.




LXXIX


How strange is love, O my lover!
With what enchantment and power
Does it not come upon mortals,
Learned or heedless!

How far away and unreal,                                                  5
Faint as blue isles in a sunset
Haze-golden, all else of life seems,
Since I have known thee!




LXXX


How to say I love you:
What, if I but live it,
Were the use in that, love?
  Small, indeed.

Only, every moment                                                        5
Of this waking lifetime
Let me be your lover
  And your friend!

Ah, but then, as sure as
Blossom breaks from bud-sheath,                                          10
When along the hillside
  Spring returns,

Golden speech should flower
From the soul so cherished,
And the mouth your kisses                                                15
  Filled with fire.




LXXXI


Hark, love, to the tambourines
Of the minstrels in the street,
And one voice that throbs and soars
Clear above the clashing time!

Some Egyptian royal love-lilt,                                            5
Some Sidonian refrain,
Vows of Paphos or of Tyre,
Mount against the silver sun.

Pleading, piercing, yet serene,
Vagrant in a foreign town,                                               10
From what passion was it born,
In what lost land over sea?




LXXXII


Over the roofs the honey-coloured moon,
With purple shadows on the silver grass,

And the warm south-wind on the curving sea,
While we two, lovers past all turmoil now,

Watch from the window the white sails come in,                            5
Bearing what unknown ventures safe to port!

So falls the hour of twilight and of love
With wizardry to loose the hearts of men,

And there is nothing more in this great world
Than thou and I, and the blue dome of dusk.                              10




LXXXIII


In the quiet garden world,
Gold sunlight and shadow leaves
Flicker on the wall.

And the wind, a moment since,
With rose-petals strewed the path                                         5
And the open door.

Now the moon-white butterflies
Float across the liquid air,
Glad as in a dream;

And, across thy lover's heart,                                           10
Visions of one scarlet mouth
With its maddening smile.




LXXXIV


Soft was the wind in the beech-trees;
Low was the surf on the shore;
In the blue dusk one planet
Like a great sea-pharos shone.

But nothing to me were the sea-sounds,                                    5
The wind and the yellow star,
When over my breast the banner
Of your golden hair was spread.




LXXXV


Have you heard the news of Sappho's garden,
And the Golden Rose of Mitylene,
Which the bending brown-armed rowers lately
Brought from over sea, from lonely Pontus?

In a meadow by the river Halys,                                           5
Where some wood-god hath the world in keeping,
On a burning summer noon they found her,
Lovely as a Dryad, and more tender.

Her these eyes have seen, and not another
Shall behold, till time takes all things goodly,                         10
So surpassing fair and fond and wondrous,--
Such a slave as, worth a great king's ransom,

No man yet of all the sons of mortals
But would lose his soul for and regret not;
So hath Beauty compassed all her children                                15
With the cords of longing and desire.

Only Hermes, master of word music,
Ever yet in glory of gold language
Could ensphere the magical remembrance
Of her melting, half sad, wayward beauty,                                20

Or devise the silver phrase to frame her,
The inevitable name to call her,
Half a sigh and half a kiss when whispered,
Like pure air that feeds a forge's hunger.

Not a painter in the Isles of Hellas                                     25
Could portray her, mix the golden tawny
With bright stain of poppies, or ensanguine
Like the life her darling mouth's vermilion,

So that, in the ages long hereafter,
When we shall be dust of perished summers,                               30
Any man could say who found that likeness,
Smiling gently on it, "This was Gorgo!"




LXXXVI


Love is so strong a thing,
The very gods must yield,
When it is welded fast
With the unflinching truth.

Love is so frail a thing,                                                 5
A word, a look, will kill.
Oh lovers, have a care
How ye do deal with love.




LXXXVII


Hadst thou, with all thy loveliness, been true,
Had I, with all my tenderness, been strong,
We had not made this ruin out of life,
This desolation in a world of joy,
  My poor Gorgo.                                                          5

Yet even the high gods at times do err;
Be therefore thou not overcome with woe,
But dedicate anew to greater love
An equal heart, and be thy radiant self
  Once more, Gorgo.                                                      10




LXXXVIII


As, on a morn, a traveller might emerge
From the deep green seclusion of the hills,
By a cool road through forest and through fern,
Little frequented, winding, followed long
With joyous expectation and day-dreams,                                   5
And on a sudden, turning a great rock
Covered with frondage, dark with dripping water,
Behold the seaboard full of surf and sound,
With all the space and glory of the world
Above the burnished silver of the sea,--                                 10

Even so it was upon that first spring day
When time, that is a devious path for men,
Led me all lonely to thy door at last;
And all thy splendid beauty, gracious and glad,
(Glad as bright colour, free as wind or air,                             15
And lovelier than racing seas of foam)
Bore sense and soul and mind at once away
To a pure region where the gods might dwell,
Making of me, a vagrant child before,
A servant of joy at Aphrodite's will.                                    20




LXXXIX


Where shall I look for thee,
Where find thee now,
O my lost Atthis?

Storm bars the harbour,
And snow keeps the pass                                                   5
In the blue mountains.

Bitter the wind whistles,
Pale is the sun,
And the days shorten.

Close to the hearthstone,                                                10
With long thoughts of thee,
Thy lonely lover

Sits now, remembering
All the spent hours
And thy fair beauty.                                                     15

Ah, when the hyacinth
Wakens with spring,
And buds the laurel,

Doubt not, some morning
When all earth revives,                                                  20
Hearing Pan's flute-call

Over the river-beds,
Over the hills,
Sounding the summons,

I shall look up and behold                                               25
In the door,
Smiling, expectant,

Loving as ever
And glad as of old,
My own lost Atthis!                                                      30




XC


A sad, sad face, and saddest eyes that ever
  Beheld the sun,
Whence came the grief that makes of all thy beauty
  One sad sweet smile?

In this bright portrait, where the painter fixed them,                    5
  I still behold
The eyes that gladdened, and the lips that loved me,
  And, gold on rose,

The cloud of hair that settles on one shoulder
  Slipped from its vest.                                                 10
I almost hear thy Mitylenean love-song
  In the spring night,

When the still air was odorous with blossoms,
  And in the hour
Thy first wild girl's-love trembled into being,                          15
  Glad, glad and fond.

Ah, where is all that wonder? What god's malice
  Undid that joy
And set the seal of patient woe upon thee,
  O my lost love?                                                        20




XCI


Why have the gods in derision
Severed us, heart of my being?
Where have they lured thee to wander,
  O my lost lover?

While now I sojourn with sorrow,                                          5
Having remorse for my comrade,
What town is blessed with thy beauty,
  Gladdened and prospered?

Nay, who could love as I loved thee,
With whom thy beauty was mingled                                         10
In those spring days when the swallows
  Came with the south wind?

Then I became as that shepherd
Loved by Selene on Latmus,
Once when her own summer magic                                           15
  Took hold upon her

With a sweet madness, and thenceforth
Her mortal lover must wander
Over the wide world for ever,
  Like one enchanted.                                                    20




XCII


Like a red lily in the meadow grasses,
Swayed by the wind and burning in the sunlight,
I saw you, where the city chokes with traffic,
Bearing among the passers-by your beauty,
Unsullied, wild, and delicate as a flower.                                5
And then I knew, past doubt or peradventure,
Our loved and mighty Eleusinian mother
Had taken thought of me for her pure worship,
And of her favour had assigned my comrade
For the Great Mysteries,--knew I should find you                         10
When the dusk murmured with its new-made lovers,
And we be no more foolish but wise children,
And well content partake of joy together,
As she ordains and human hearts desire.




XCIII


When in the spring the swallows all return,
And the bleak bitter sea grows mild once more,
With all its thunders softened to a sigh;

When to the meadows the young green comes back,
And swelling buds put forth on every bough,                               5
With wild-wood odours on the delicate air;

Ah, then, in that so lovely earth wilt thou
With all thy beauty love me all one way,
And make me all thy lover as before?

Lo, where the white-maned horses of the surge,                           10
Plunging in thunderous onset to the shore,
Trample and break and charge along the sand!




XCIV


Cold is the wind where Daphne sleeps,
That was so tender and so warm
With loving,--with a loveliness
Than her own laurel lovelier.

Now pipes the bitter wind for her,                                        5
And the snow sifts about her door,
While far below her frosty hill
The racing billows plunge and boom.




XCV


Hark, where Poseidon's
White racing horses
Trample with tumult
The shelving seaboard!

Older than Saturn,                                                        5
Older than Rhea,
That mournful music,
Falling and surging

With the vast rhythm
Ceaseless, eternal,                                                      10
Keeps the long tally
Of all things mortal.

How many lovers
Hath not its lulling
Cradled to slumber
With the ripe flowers,                                                   15

Ere for our pleasure
This golden summer
Walked through the corn-lands
In gracious splendour!                                                   20

How many loved ones
Will it not croon to,
In the long spring-days
Through coming ages,

When all our day-dreams                                                  25
Have been forgotten,
And none remembers
Even thy beauty!

They too shall slumber
In quiet places,                                                         30
And mighty sea-sounds
Call them unheeded.




XCVI


Hark, my lover, it is spring!
On the wind a faint far call
Wakes a pang within my heart,
Unmistakable and keen.

At the harbour mouth a sail                                               5
Glimmers in the morning sun,
And the ripples at her prow
Whiten into crumbling foam,

As she forges outward bound
For the teeming foreign ports.                                           10
Through the open window now,
Hear the sailors lift a song!

In the meadow ground the frogs
With their deafening flutes begin,--
The old madness of the world                                             15
In their golden throats again.

Little fifers of live bronze,
Who hath taught you with wise lore
To unloose the strains of joy,
When Orion seeks the west?                                               20

And you feathered flute-players,
Who instructed you to fill
All the blossomy orchards now
With melodious desire?

I doubt not our father Pan                                               25
Hath a care of all these things.
In some valley of the hills
Far away and misty-blue,

By quick water he hath cut
A new pipe, and set the wood                                             30
To his smiling lips, and blown,
That earth's rapture be restored.

And those wild Pandean stops
Mark the cadence life must keep.
O my lover, be thou glad;                                                35
It is spring in Hellas now.




XCVII


When the early soft spring wind comes blowing
Over Rhodes and Samos and Miletus,
From the seven mouths of Nile to Lesbos,
Freighted with sea-odours and gold sunshine,

What news spreads among the island people                                 5
In the market-place of Mitylene,
Lending that unwonted stir of gladness
To the busy streets and thronging doorways?

Is it word from Ninus or Arbela,
Babylon the great, or Northern Imbros?                                   10
Have the laden galleons been sighted
Stoutly labouring up the sea from Tyre?

Nay, 'tis older news that foreign sailor
With the cheek of sea-tan stops to prattle
To the young fig-seller with her basket                                  15
And the breasts that bud beneath her tunic,

And I hear it in the rustling tree-tops.
All this passionate bright tender body
Quivers like a leaf the wind has shaken,
Now love wanders through the aisles of springtime.                       20




XCVIII


I am more tremulous than shaken reeds,
And love has made me like the river water.

Thy voice is as the hill-wind over me,
And all my changing heart gives heed, my lover.

Before thy least lost murmur I must sigh,                                 5
Or gladden with thee as the sun-path glitters.




XCIX


Over the wheat-field,
Over the hill-crest,
Swoops and is gone
The beat of a wild wing,
Brushing the pine-tops,                                                   5
Bending the poppies,
Hurrying Northward
With golden summer.

What premonition,
O purple swallow,                                                        10
Told thee the happy
Hour of migration?
Hark! On the threshold
(Hush, flurried heart in me!),
Was there a footfall?                                                    15
Did no one enter?

Soon will a shepherd
In rugged Dacia,
Folding his gentle
Ewes in the twilight,                                                    20
Lifting a level
Gaze from the sheepfold,
Say to his fellows,
"Lo, it is springtime."

This very hour                                                           25
In Mitylene,
Will not a young girl
Say to her lover,
Lifting her moon-white
Arms to enlace him,                                                      30
Ere the glad sigh comes,
"Lo, it is lovetime!"




C


Once more the rain on the mountain,
Once more the wind in the valley,
With the soft odours of springtime
And the long breath of remembrance,
  O Lityerses!                                                            5

Warm is the sun in the city.
On the street corners with laughter
Traffic the flower-girls. Beauty
Blossoms once more for thy pleasure
  In many places.                                                        10

Gentlier now falls the twilight,
With the slim moon in the pear-trees;
And the green frogs in the meadows
Blow on shrill pipes to awaken
  Thee, Lityerses.                                                       15

Gladlier now crimson morning
Flushes fair-built Mitylene,--
Portico, temple, and column,--
Where the young garlanded women
Praise thee with singing.                                                20

Ah, but what burden of sorrow
Tinges their slow stately chorus,
Though spring revisits the glad earth?
Wilt thou not wake to their summons,
  O Lityerses?                                                           25

Shall they then never behold thee,--
Nevermore see thee returning
Down the blue cleft of the mountains,
Nor in the purple of evening
  Welcome thy coming?                                                    30

Nevermore answer thy glowing
Youth with their ardour, nor cherish
With lovely longing thy spirit,
Nor with soft laughter beguile thee,
  O Lityerses?                                                           35

Heedless, assuaged, art thou sleeping
Where the spring sun cannot find thee,
Nor the wind waken, nor woodlands
Bloom for thy innocent rapture
Through golden hours?                                                    40

Hast thou no passion nor pity
For thy deserted companions?
Never again will thy beauty
Quell their desire nor rekindle,
  O Lityerses?                                                           45

Nay, but in vain their clear voices
Call thee. Thy sensitive beauty
Is become part of the fleeting
Loveliness, merged in the pathos
  Of all things mortal.                                                  50

In the faint fragrance of flowers,
On the sweet draft of the sea-wind,
Linger strange hints now that loosen
Tears for thy gay gentle spirit,
  O Lityerses!                                                           55




EPILOGUE


Now the hundred songs are made,
And the pause comes. Loving Heart,
There must be an end to summer,
And the flute be laid aside.

On a day the frost will come,                                             5
Walking through the autumn world,
Hushing all the brave endeavour
Of the crickets in the grass.

On a day (Oh, far from now!)
Earth will hear this voice no more;                                      10
For it shall be with thy lover
As with Linus long ago.

All the happy songs he wrought
From remembrance soon must fade,
As the wash of silver moonlight                                          15
From a purple-dark ravine.

Frail as dew upon the grass
Or the spindrift of the sea,
Out of nothing they were fashioned
And to nothing must return.                                              20

Nay, but something of thy love,
Passion, tenderness, and joy,
Some strange magic of thy beauty,
Some sweet pathos of thy tears,

Must imperishably cling                                                  25
To the cadence of the words,
Like a spell of lost enchantments
Laid upon the hearts of men.

Wild and fleeting as the notes
Blown upon a woodland pipe,                                              30
They must haunt the earth with gladness
And a tinge of old regret.

For the transport in their rhythm
Was the throb of thy desire,
And thy lyric moods shall quicken                                        35
Souls of lovers yet unborn.

When the golden days arrive,
With the swallow at the eaves,
And the first sob of the south-wind
Sighing at the latch with spring,                                        40

Long hereafter shall thy name
Be recalled through foreign lands,
And thou be a part of sorrow
When the Linus songs are sung.






PRINTED AT
THE DE LA MORE PRESS
32 GEORGE STREET
HANOVER SQUARE
LONDON W

[Illustration: The King's Classics]

CHATTO AND WINDUS

111 St. Martin's Lane, London




A CONCISE LIST OF THE KING'S CLASSICS

GENERAL EDITOR:

PROFESSOR I. GOLLANCZ, Litt.D.


ALTHOUGH The King's Classics are to be purchased for 1/6 net per volume,
the series is unique in that

    (1) the letterpress, paper, and binding are unapproached by any
    similar series.

    (2) "Competent scholars in every case have supervised this series,
    which can therefore be received with confidence."--_Athenaeum_,

    (3) With few exceptions, the volumes in this series are included in no
    similar series, while several are copyright.




THE KING'S CLASSICS

UNDER THE GENERAL EDITORSHIP OF PROFESSOR I. GOLLANCZ, LITT.D.

"Right Royal Series."--_Literary World._


"We note with pleasure that competent scholars in every case have
supervised this Series, which can therefore be received with
confidence."--_Athenaeum_.

The Series of "King's Classics," issued under the General Editorship of
Professor I. GOLLANCZ, aims at introducing to the larger reading public
many noteworthy works of literature not readily accessible in cheap form,
or not hitherto rendered into English. Each volume is edited by some expert
scholar, and has a summary introduction dealing with the main and essential
facts of the literary history of the book; at the end there are the
necessary notes for a right understanding of references and textual
difficulties; where necessary, there is also a carefully-compiled index. As
will be at once seen from the accompanying list, much original and new work
has been secured for the Series, and it will be recognised that the "King's
Classics" differentiate themselves in a very marked way from the many
reprints of popular books.

It should be noted, however, that while primarily rare masterpieces are
included in the "King's Classics," modern popular classics, more especially
such as have not yet been adequately or at all annotated, are not excluded
from the Series.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE.--_At the date of this list, May 1, 1907, Nos. 1-35 were published.
Numbers subsequent to 35 are at press or about to go to press._




The "King's Classics" are printed on antique laid paper, 16mo. (6 X 4-1/2
inches), gilt tops, and are issued in the following styles and prices. Each
volume has a frontispiece, usually in photogravure.

    Quarter bound, antique grey boards, 1/6 net.

    Red Cloth, 1/6 net.

    Quarter Vellum, grey cloth sides, 2/6 net.

    Special three-quarter Vellum, Oxford side-papers, gilt tops, silk
    marker, 5/- net.

    ***Nos. 2, 20 and 24 are double volumes. Price, Boards or Cloth, 3/-
    net; Quarter Vellum, 5/- net; special three-quarter Vellum, 7/6 net.

1. THE LOVE OF BOOKS: being the Philobiblon of RICHARD DE BURY.

Translated by E.C. THOMAS. Frontispiece, Seal of Richard de Bury (as Bishop
of Durham).

3. THE CHRONICLE OF JOCELIN OF BRAKELOND, MONK OF ST. EDMUNDSBURY: a
Picture of Monastic and Social Life in the XIIth Century.

Newly translated, from the original Latin, with notes, table of dates
relating to the Abbey of St. Edmundsbury, and index, by L.C. JANE, M.A.,
sometime Exhibitioner in Modern History at University College, Oxon., and
with an Introduction by the Right Rev. Abbot GASQUET. Frontispiece, Seal of
Abbot Samson (A.D. 1200).

***20. THE NUN'S RULE, or Ancren Riwle, in Modern English.

Being the injunctions of Bishop Poore intended for the guidance of nuns or
anchoresses, as set forth in the famous thirteenth-century MS. referred to
above.

Editor, the Right Rev. Abbot GASQUET. Frontispiece, Seal of Bishop Poore.

_Double volume._

17. MEDIAEVAL, LORE.

From Bartholomaeus Anglicus. Edited with notes, index and glossary by
ROBERT STEELE. Preface by the late WILLIAM MORRIS. Frontispiece, an old
illumination, representing Astrologers using Astrolabes.

[The book is drawn from one of the most widely-read works of mediaeval
times. Its popularity is explained by its scope, which comprises
explanations of allusions to natural objects met with in Scripture and
elsewhere. It was, in fact, an account of the properties of things in
general.]

11. THE ROMANCE OF FULK FITZWARINE.

Newly translated from the Anglo-French by ALICE KEMP-WELCH, with an
introduction by Professor BRANDIN. Frontispiece, Whittington Castle in
Shropshire, the seat of the Fitzwarines.

45. THE SONG OF ROLAND.

Newly translated from the old French by Mrs. CROSLAND. Introduction by
Professor BRANDIN, University of London. Frontispiece.

22. EARLY LIVES OF CHARLEMAGNE.

Translated and edited by A.J. GRANT. With frontispiece representing an
early bronze figure of Charlemagne from the Musee Carnavalet, Paris.

We have here given us two "Lives" of Charlemagne by contemporary
authorities--one by Eginhard and the other by the Monk of St. Gall. Very
different in style, when brought together in one volume each supplies the
deficiencies of the other.

35. WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG.

Mediaeval students' songs, translated from the Latin, with an essay, by
JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS. Frontispiece after a fifteenth-century woodcut.

18. THE VISION OF PIERS THE PLOWMAN.

By WILLIAM LANGLAND; _in modern English by_ Professor SKEAT, Litt.D.
Frontispiece, "God Speed the Plough," from an old MS.

8. CHAUCER'S KNIGHT'S TALE, or Palamon and Arcite.

_In modern English by_ Professor SKEAT, Litt.D. Frontispiece, "The
Canterbury Pilgrims," from an illuminated MS.

9. CHAUCER'S MAN OF LAW'S TALE, Squire's Tale, and Nun's Priest's Tale.

_In modern English by_ Professor SKEAT, Litt.D. Frontispiece from an
illuminated MS.

10. CHAUCER'S PRIORESS'S TALE, Pardoner's Tale, Clerk's Tale, and Canon's
Yeoman's Tale.

_In modern English by_ Professor SKEAT, Litt.D. Frontispiece, "The
Patient Griselda," from the well-known fifteenth-century picture of the
Umbrian School in the National Gallery.

41. CHAUCER'S LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN.

_In modern English_, with notes and introduction, by Professor W.W.
SKEAT, Litt.D. Frontispiece, "Ariadne Deserted," after the painting by
ANGELICA KAUFMANN.

36, 37. GEORGE PETTIE'S "PETITE PALACE OF PETTIE HIS PLEASURE."

The popular Elizabethan book containing twelve classical love-stories--
"Sinorex and Camma," "Tereus and Progne," etc.--in style the precursor of
Euphues, now first reprinted under the editorship of Professor I. GOLLANCZ.
Frontispieces, a reproduction of the original title, and of an original
page.

_In two volumes_.

21. THE MEMOIRS OF ROBERT CARY, Earl of Monmouth.

Being a contemporary record of the life of that nobleman as Warden of the
Marches and at the Court of Elizabeth.

Editor, G.H. POWELL. With frontispiece from the original edition,
representing Queen Elizabeth in a state procession, with the Earl of
Monmouth and others in attendance.

19. THE GULL'S HORNBOOK.

By THOMAS DEKKER. Editor, R.B. MCKERROW. Frontispiece, The nave of St.
Paul's Cathedral at the time of Elizabeth.

29. SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS.

Editor, C.C. STOPES. Frontispiece, Portrait of the Earl of Southampton.

4. THE LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE, Knight.

By his son-in-law, WILLIAM ROPER. With letters to and from his famous
daughter, Margaret Roper. Frontispiece, Portrait of Sir Thomas More, after
Holbein.

33. THE HOUSEHOLD OF SIR THOMAS MORE. By ANNE MANNING. Preface by RICHARD
GARNETT. Frontispiece, "The Family of Sir Thomas More."

40. SIR THOMAS MORE'S UTOPIA.

Now for the first time edited from _the first edition by_ ROBERT
STEELE. Frontispiece, Portrait of Sir Thomas More, after an early
engraving.

44. THE FOUR LAST THINGS, together with the Life of Pico della Mirandola
and the English Poems.

By Sir THOMAS MORE. Edited by DANIEL O'CONNOR. Frontispiece after two
designs from the "Daunce of Death."

43. SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE'S ESSAY ON GARDENS, together with other Carolean
Essays on Gardens.

Edited, and with notes and introduction, by A. FORBES SIEVEKING, F.S.A.
Frontispiece, Portrait of Sir William Temple, and five reproductions of
early "garden" engravings.

5. EIKON BASILIKE: or, The King's Book.

Edited by EDWARD ALMACK, F.S.A. Frontispiece, Portrait of King Charles I.
This edition, which has been printed from an advance copy of the King's
Book seized by Cromwell's soldiers, is the first inexpensive one for a
hundred years in which the original spelling of the first edition has been
preserved.

6, 7. KINGS' LETTERS.

Part I. Letters of the Kings of England, from Alfred to the Coming of the
Tudors, newly edited from the originals by ROBERT STEELE, F.S.A.
Frontispiece, Portrait of Henry V.

Part II. From the Early Tudors, with the love-letters of Henry VIII. and
Anne Boleyn, and with frontispiece, Portrait of Anne Boleyn.

Parts III. and IV., bringing the series up to modern times, will shortly be
announced under the same editorship.

39. THE ROYAL POETS OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND.

Being Original Poems by English Kings and other Royal and Noble Persons,
now first collected and edited by W. BAILEY-KEMPLING. Frontispiece,
Portrait of King James I. of Scotland, after an early engraving.

13. THE LIFE OF MARGARET GODOLPHIN.

By JOHN EVELYN, the famous diarist. Re-edited from the edition of Samuel
Wilberforce, Bishop of Oxford. Frontispiece, Portrait of Margaret Godolphin
engraved on copper.

15. THE FALSTAFF LETTERS.

Editor, JAMES WHITE, possibly with the assistance of CHARLES LAMB, _cf.
the Introduction_. Frontispiece, Sir John Falstaff dancing to Master
Brooks' fiddle, from the original edition.

14. EARLY LIVES OF DANTE.

Comprising Boccaccio's Life of Dante, Leonardo Bruni's Life of Dante, and
other important contemporary records.

Translated and edited by the Rev. PHILIP H. WICKSTEED. Frontispiece, The
Death-mask of Dante.

46. DANTE'S VITA NUOVA.

The Italian text with D.G. ROSSETTI'S translation on the opposite page.
Introduction and notes by Professor H. OELSNER Ph.D., Lecturer in Romance
Literature, Oxford University. Frontispiece after the original water-colour
sketch for "Dante's Dream," by D.G. ROSSETTI.

12. THE STORY OF CUPID AND PSYCHE.

From "The Golden Ass" of Apuleius, translated by W. ADLINGTON (1566),
edited by W.H.D. ROUSE, Litt.D. With frontispiece representing the
"Marriage of Cupid and Psyche," after a gem now in the British Museum.

23. CICERO'S "FRIENDSHIP," "OLD AGE," AND "SCIPIO'S DREAM."

From early translations. Editor, W.H.D. ROUSE, Litt.D. Frontispiece,
"Scipio, Laelius and Cato conversing," from a fourteenth-century MS.

***2. SIX DRAMAS OF CALDERON.

Translated by EDWARD FITZGERALD. Editor, H. OELSNER, M.A., Ph.D.
Frontispiece, Portrait of Calderon, from an etching by M. EGUSQUIZA.

_Double volume._

42. SWIFT'S BATTLE OF THE BOOKS.

Edited, and with notes and introduction. Frontispiece.

38. WALPOLE'S CASTLE OF OTRANTO.

The introduction of Sir WALTER SCOTT. Preface by Miss C. SPURGEON.
Frontispiece, Portrait of Walpole, after a contemporary engraving.

30. GEORGE ELIOT'S SILAS MARNER.

Frontispiece, Portrait of George Eliot, from a water-colour drawing by Mrs.
CHARLES BRAY. Introduction by RICHARD GARNETT.

31. GOLDSMITH'S VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.

Introduction by RICHARD GARNETT. Frontispiece, Portrait of Oliver
Goldsmith.

32. PEG WOFFINGTON.

By CHARLES READE. Frontispiece, Portrait of Peg Woffington. Introduction by
RICHARD GARNETT.

16. POLONIUS, a Collection of Wise Saws and Modern Instances.

By EDWARD FITZGERALD. With portrait of Edward FitzGerald from the miniature
by Mrs. E.M.B. RIVETT-CARNAC as frontispiece; notes and index. Contains a
preface by EDWARD FITZGERALD, on Aphorisms generally.

***24. WORDSWORTH'S PRELUDE.

The introduction and notes have been written by W. BASIL WORSFOLD, M.A.,
and the frontispiece is taken from the portrait of Wordsworth by H.W.
PICKERSGILL, R.A., in the National Gallery. A map of the Lake District is
added.

_Double volume_.

25. THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE and other Poems by WILLIAM MORRIS.

Editor, ROBERT STEELE. With reproduction of DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI'S
picture of "Lancelot and Guenevere at King Arthur's tomb" as frontispiece.

26, 27. BROWNING'S "MEN AND WOMEN."

Edited with introduction and notes by W. BASIL WORSFOLD, M.A. Two volumes,
each with portrait of Browning as frontispiece.

_In two volumes_.

28. POE'S POEMS.

Editor, EDWARD HUTTON. Frontispiece, Poe's cottage.

34. SAPPHO: One Hundred Lyrics By BLISS CARMAN, With frontispiece after a
Greek gem.

_To be continued_.

NOTE.--_At the date of this list, May_ 1, 1907, Nos. 1-35 were published.
Numbers subsequent to 35 are at press or about to go to press_.

CHATTO AND WINDUS,
111 ST. MARTIN'S LANE, LONDON, W.C.




THE SHAKESPEARE CLASSICS

A Series of volumes of reprints, under the general editorship of Professor
I. GOLLANCZ, embodying the Romances, Novels, and Plays used by Shakespeare
as the direct sources and originals of his plays. 6-1/2 x 5-1/4 inches,
gilt tops, in the following styles. Each volume will contain a photogravure
frontispiece reproduction of the original title. Publication of Nos. 1 and
2 in June; No. 3 in September, and thereafter at short intervals.

    Quarter-bound antique grey boards, 2/6 net.

    Whole gold brown velvet persian, 4/- net.

    Three-quarter vellum, Oxford side-papers, gilt tops, silk marker, 6/-
    net; Postage, 4_d_.

FIRST VOLUMES

1. LODGE'S "ROSALYNDE": the original of Shakespeare's "As You Like It."

Edited by W.W. GREG, M.A.

2. GREENE'S "DORASTUS AND FAWNIA": the original of Shakespeare's "Winter's
Tale."

Edited by P.G. THOMAS, Professor of English Literature, Bedford College,
University of London.

3. BROOKE'S POEM OF "ROMEUS AND JULIET": the original of Shakespeare's
"Romeo and Juliet," as edited by P.A. DANIEL, modernised and re-edited by
J.J. MUNRO.

4. "THE TROUBLESOME REIGN OF KING JOHN": the Play rewritten by Shakespeare
as "King John."

Edited by F.J. FURNIVALL, D. Litt.

5, 6. "THE HISTORY OF HAMLET." Together with other Documents illustrative
of the source of Shakespeare's play, and an Introductory Study of the
Legend of Hamlet by Professor I. GOLLANCZ, Litt.D., who also edits the
work. (NOTE.--No. 6 will fill 2 volumes.)

7. "THE PLAY OF KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS": the old play on the
subject of King Lear.

Edited by SIDNEY LEE, D. Litt.

*** _Also 520 special sets (500 for sale) on larger paper, about 7-1/2 x
5-3/4 inches, half-bound parchment, boards, gilt tops, as a Library
Edition. Sold in sets only. Per volume, 5/- net; Postage, 4d._

***Among other items THE SHAKESPEARE LIBRARY--of which the above Series
forms the first section--will contain a complete Old-spelling Shakespeare,
edited by Dr. FURNIVALL. A full prospectus of The Shakespeare Library is in
preparation, and will be sent post free on application.

_R. Clay & Sons, Ltd., London and Bungay._





End of Project Gutenberg's Sappho: One Hundred Lyrics, by Bliss Carman

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAPPHO: ONE HUNDRED LYRICS ***

***** This file should be named 12389.txt or 12389.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/8/12389/

Produced by David Starner, Robert Connal and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.


Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
https://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at https://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org

Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit https://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's
eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII,
compressed (zipped), HTML and others.

Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over
the old filename and etext number.  The replaced older file is renamed.
VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving
new filenames and etext numbers.

Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     https://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000,
are filed in directories based on their release date.  If you want to
download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular
search system you may utilize the following addresses and just
download by the etext year.

     https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06

    (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99,
     98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90)

EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are
filed in a different way.  The year of a release date is no longer part
of the directory path.  The path is based on the etext number (which is
identical to the filename).  The path to the file is made up of single
digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename.  For
example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at:

     https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234

or filename 24689 would be found at:
     https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689

An alternative method of locating eBooks:
     https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL