Poems (1898)/Sappho

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For works with similar titles, see Sappho.
For other versions of this work, see Sappho (Coates).


As a wan weaver in an attic dim,
 Hopeless yet patient, so he may be fed
 With scanty store of sorrow-seasoned bread,
 Heareth a blithe bird carol over him,
And sees no longer walls and rafters grim,
 But rural lanes where little feet are led
 Through springing flowers, fields with clover spread,
 Clouds, swan-like, that o'er depths of azure swim,—
So, when upon our earth-dulled ear new breaks
 Some fragment, Sappho, of thy skyey song,
 A noble wonder in our souls awakes;
The deathless Beautiful draws strangely nigh,
 And we look up, and marvel how so long
 We were content to drudge for sordid joys that die.