O Forest-maidens, smite on the breast,
Rend ye the delicate-woven vest!
Let the wail ring wild and high:
"Ah for Adonis!" cry.
O Sappho, how canst thou chant the bliss
Of Kypris—after such day as this?
"Oh Adonis, thou leavest me—woe for my lot!
And Eros, my servant, availeth me not!"
So wails Cytherea, grief-distraught.
"Who shall console me for thee? There is none—
Not Ares my god-lover, passionate one
Who sware in his jealousy forth to hale
Hephaestus my spouse from his palace, if he
Dared but to lift his eyes unto me.
Not he can console me, Adonis, for thee!"
Wail for Adonis, wail!
XVIII.
Sonnet to Dica, the fair and wise.
(Fragments 79, 69, 78 combined.)
Dica, I love all dainty grace; and more
Than all I love the dainty grace of thee.
Love has the splendour of the sun for me,
The beauty that the sun's rays earthward pour.
I love not thy grace only: I adore
Wisdom, a thing divine; and there will be
Never a maid that shall the sun's light see
Who more than thou is dowered with wisdom's lore.
