Scornful she dwells beyond my ardor's clutch, Bathed in an aureole of carnal fire;-- O bind her equal slave to fond desire, Let passion's tingling warmth her being touch! Come to me, Goddess, come as once of old, Hearing my voice implore thee from afar, I drew to earth thy dazzling avatar; Accord the smile of piercing bliss untold. Ask me the dear suave question phrased of yore; "Sappho, who grieveth now thy mad fond heart? Wouldst win her beauty, she who frowns apart? Wild as thou lovest, she soon shall love thee more." O fair Olympian, answer thus, I pray! Release me from this torment, yield my arms The transport thirsted of her folded charms, In glow that welds her heart to mine for aye. EROS From the gnarled branches of the apple trees The heavy petals, lifted by the breeze, Fluttered on puffs of odor fine and fell In the clear water of the garden well; And some a bolder zephyr blew in sport Across the marble reaches of my court, And some by sudden gusts were wafted wide Toward sea and city, down the mountain side. Lesbos seemed Paphos, isled in rosy glow, Green olive hills, the violet vale below; The air was azure fire and o'er the blue Still sea the doves of Aphrodite flew. My dreaming eyes saw Eros from afar Coming from heaven in his mother's car, In purple tunic clad; and at my heart The God was aiming his relentless dart. He whom fair Aphrodite called her son, She, the adored, she, the imperial One; He passed as winds that shake the soul, as pains Sweet to the heart, as fire that warms the veins; He passed and left my limbs dissolved in dew, Relaxed and faint, with passion quivered through; Exhausted with spent thrills of dread delight, A sudden darkness rushing on my sight. PASSION Now Love shakes my soul, a mighty Wind from the high mountain falling Full on the oaks of the forest; Now, limb-relaxing, it masters My life and implacable thrills me, Rending with anguish and rapture. Now my heart, paining my bosom, Pants with desire as a mænad Mad for the orgiac revel. Now under my skin run subtle Arrows of flame, and my body Quivers with surge of emotion. Now long importunate yearnings Vanquish with surfeit my reason; Fainting my senses forsake me. APHRODITE'S PRAISE O Sappho, why art thou ever Singing with praises the blessed Queen of the heaven? Why does the heart in thy bosom Ever revert in its yearning Throb to the Goddess? Why are thy senses unsated Ever in quest of elusive Love that is deathless? Ah, gracious Daughter of Cyprus, Never can I as a mortal Tire of thy service.