II
Come in thy pity—come, if I have prayed thee;
Come at the cry of my sorrow; in the old times
Oft thou hast heard, and left thy father’s heaven,
Left the gold houses,
III
Yoking thy chariot. Swiftly did the doves fly,
Swiftly they brought thee, waving plumes of wonder,
Waving their dark plumes all across the ether,
All down the azure.
IV
Very soon they lighted. Then didst thou, Divine one,
Laugh a bright laugh from lips and eyes immortal,
Ask me what ailed me—wherefore out of heaven
Thus I had called thee.
V
What was it made me madden in my heart so.
Question me, smiling—say to me my Sappho,
Who is it wrongs thee. Tell me who refuses
Thee vainly sighing.
VI
Be it who that may be, he that flies shall follow;
He that rejects gifts, he shall bring thee many;
He that hates now shall love thee dearly, madly—
Aye, though thou wouldst not.
