And there, as
darkness
gathers 5
In the rose-scented garden,
The god who prospers music
Shall give me skill to play.
In the rose-scented garden,
The god who prospers music
Shall give me skill to play.
Sappho
10
Why are Selene's white horses
So long arriving?
XLIV
O but my delicate lover,
Is she not fair as the moonlight?
Is she not supple and strong
For hurried passion?
Has not the god of the green world, 5
In his large tolerant wisdom,
Filled with the ardours of earth
Her twenty summers?
Well did he make her for loving;
Well did he mould her for beauty; 10
Gave her the wish that is brave
With understanding.
"O Pan, avert from this maiden
Sorrow, misfortune, bereavement,
Harm, and unhappy regret," 15
Prays one fond mortal.
XLV
Softer than the hill-fog to the forest
Are the loving hands of my dear lover,
When she sleeps beside me in the starlight
And her beauty drenches me with rest.
As the quiet mist enfolds the beech-trees, 5
Even as she dreams her arms enfold me,
Half awaking with a hundred kisses
On the scarlet lily of her mouth.
XLVI
I seek and desire,
Even as the wind
That travels the plain
And stirs in the bloom
Of the apple-tree. 5
I wander through life,
With the searching mind
That is never at rest,
Till I reach the shade
Of my lover's door. 10
XLVII
Like torn sea-kelp in the drift
Of the great tides of the sea,
Carried past the harbour-mouth
To the deep beyond return,
I am buoyed and borne away 5
On the loveliness of earth,
Little caring, save for thee,
Past the portals of the night.
XLVIII
Fine woven purple linen
I bring thee from Phocaea,
That, beauty upon beauty,
A precious gift may cover
The lap where I have lain. 5
And a gold comb, and girdle,
And trinkets of white silver,
And gems are in my sea-chest,
Lest poor and empty-handed
Thy lover should return. 10
And I have brought from Tyre
A Pan-flute stained vermilion,
Wherein the gods have hidden
Love and desire and longing,
Which I shall loose for thee. 15
XLIX
When I am home from travel,
My eager foot will stay not
Until I reach the threshold
Where I went forth from thee.
And there, as darkness gathers 5
In the rose-scented garden,
The god who prospers music
Shall give me skill to play.
And thou shalt hear, all startled,
A flute blown in the twilight, 10
With the soft pleading magic
The green wood heard of old.
Then, lamp in hand, thy beauty
In the rose-marble entry!
And unreluctant Hermes 15
Shall give me words to say.
L
When I behold the pharos shine
And lay a path along the sea,
How gladly I shall feel the spray,
Standing upon the swinging prow;
And question of my pilot old, 5
How many watery leagues to sail
Ere we shall round the harbour reef
And anchor off the wharves of home!
LI
Is the day long,
O Lesbian maiden,
And the night endless
In thy lone chamber
In Mitylene? 5
All the bright day,
Until welcome evening
When the stars kindle
Over the harbour,
What tasks employ thee? 10
Passing the fountain
At golden sundown,
One of the home-going
Traffickers, hast thou
Thought of thy lover? 15
Nay, but how far
Too brief will the night be,
When I returning
To the dear portal
Hear my own heart beat! 20
LII
Lo, on the distance a dark blue ravine,
A fold in the mountainous forests of fir,
Cleft from the sky-line sheer down to the shore!
Above are the clouds and the white, pealing gulls,
At its foot is the rough broken foam of the sea, 5
With ever anon the long deep muffled roar,--
A sigh from the fitful great heart of the world.
Then inland just where the small meadow begins,
Well bulwarked with boulders that jut in the tide,
Lies safe beyond storm-beat the harbour in sun. 10
See where the black fishing-boats, each at its buoy,
Ride up on the swell with their dare-danger prows,
To sight o'er the sea-rim what venture may come!
And look, where the narrow white streets of the town
Leap up from the blue water's edge to the wood, 15
Scant room for man's range between mountain and sea,
And the market where woodsmen from over the hill
May traffic, and sailors from far foreign ports
With treasure brought in from the ends of the earth.
And see the third house on the left, with that gleam 20
Of red burnished copper--the hinge of the door
Whereat I shall enter, expected so oft
(Let love be your sea-star! ), to voyage no more.
Why are Selene's white horses
So long arriving?
XLIV
O but my delicate lover,
Is she not fair as the moonlight?
Is she not supple and strong
For hurried passion?
Has not the god of the green world, 5
In his large tolerant wisdom,
Filled with the ardours of earth
Her twenty summers?
Well did he make her for loving;
Well did he mould her for beauty; 10
Gave her the wish that is brave
With understanding.
"O Pan, avert from this maiden
Sorrow, misfortune, bereavement,
Harm, and unhappy regret," 15
Prays one fond mortal.
XLV
Softer than the hill-fog to the forest
Are the loving hands of my dear lover,
When she sleeps beside me in the starlight
And her beauty drenches me with rest.
As the quiet mist enfolds the beech-trees, 5
Even as she dreams her arms enfold me,
Half awaking with a hundred kisses
On the scarlet lily of her mouth.
XLVI
I seek and desire,
Even as the wind
That travels the plain
And stirs in the bloom
Of the apple-tree. 5
I wander through life,
With the searching mind
That is never at rest,
Till I reach the shade
Of my lover's door. 10
XLVII
Like torn sea-kelp in the drift
Of the great tides of the sea,
Carried past the harbour-mouth
To the deep beyond return,
I am buoyed and borne away 5
On the loveliness of earth,
Little caring, save for thee,
Past the portals of the night.
XLVIII
Fine woven purple linen
I bring thee from Phocaea,
That, beauty upon beauty,
A precious gift may cover
The lap where I have lain. 5
And a gold comb, and girdle,
And trinkets of white silver,
And gems are in my sea-chest,
Lest poor and empty-handed
Thy lover should return. 10
And I have brought from Tyre
A Pan-flute stained vermilion,
Wherein the gods have hidden
Love and desire and longing,
Which I shall loose for thee. 15
XLIX
When I am home from travel,
My eager foot will stay not
Until I reach the threshold
Where I went forth from thee.
And there, as darkness gathers 5
In the rose-scented garden,
The god who prospers music
Shall give me skill to play.
And thou shalt hear, all startled,
A flute blown in the twilight, 10
With the soft pleading magic
The green wood heard of old.
Then, lamp in hand, thy beauty
In the rose-marble entry!
And unreluctant Hermes 15
Shall give me words to say.
L
When I behold the pharos shine
And lay a path along the sea,
How gladly I shall feel the spray,
Standing upon the swinging prow;
And question of my pilot old, 5
How many watery leagues to sail
Ere we shall round the harbour reef
And anchor off the wharves of home!
LI
Is the day long,
O Lesbian maiden,
And the night endless
In thy lone chamber
In Mitylene? 5
All the bright day,
Until welcome evening
When the stars kindle
Over the harbour,
What tasks employ thee? 10
Passing the fountain
At golden sundown,
One of the home-going
Traffickers, hast thou
Thought of thy lover? 15
Nay, but how far
Too brief will the night be,
When I returning
To the dear portal
Hear my own heart beat! 20
LII
Lo, on the distance a dark blue ravine,
A fold in the mountainous forests of fir,
Cleft from the sky-line sheer down to the shore!
Above are the clouds and the white, pealing gulls,
At its foot is the rough broken foam of the sea, 5
With ever anon the long deep muffled roar,--
A sigh from the fitful great heart of the world.
Then inland just where the small meadow begins,
Well bulwarked with boulders that jut in the tide,
Lies safe beyond storm-beat the harbour in sun. 10
See where the black fishing-boats, each at its buoy,
Ride up on the swell with their dare-danger prows,
To sight o'er the sea-rim what venture may come!
And look, where the narrow white streets of the town
Leap up from the blue water's edge to the wood, 15
Scant room for man's range between mountain and sea,
And the market where woodsmen from over the hill
May traffic, and sailors from far foreign ports
With treasure brought in from the ends of the earth.
And see the third house on the left, with that gleam 20
Of red burnished copper--the hinge of the door
Whereat I shall enter, expected so oft
(Let love be your sea-star! ), to voyage no more.
