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.
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