Sappho: One Hundred Lyrics

by Bliss Carman


 

LXXIII


 

THE sun on the tide, the peach on the bough,
The blue smoke over the hill,
And the shadows trailing the valley-side,
Make up the autumn day.

Ah, no, not half! Thou art not here

5
Under the bronze beech-leaves,
And thy lover’s soul like a lonely child
Roams through an empty room.