The garden of fond Grief all empty lies
And unregretted dip the languid oars
Of Charon thro’ the gloom, and then are gone.
Phaon
Red-lipped and breathing woman, made for love,
How can this clamouring heart of mine forget?
Sappho
You will forget, e’en though you would or no,
And the long years shall leave you free again;
And in some other Spring when other lips
Let fall my name, you will remember not.
Phaon
Enough,—but let me kiss the heavy rose
Of your red mouth.
Sappho
Of your red mouth. Not until Death has kissed
It white as these white garments, and has robed
This body for its groom.
Phaon
This body for its groom. O woman honey-pale
And passion-worn, here to my hungering lips
These arms shall hold you close!
Sappho
These arms shall hold you close! You come too late;
Forth to a sterner lover must I fare!
Phaon
Mine flamed your first love, and shall glow your last!
Sappho
Then meet this One, and know!
37
