Sappho: One Hundred Lyrics

by Bliss Carman


 

XCIV


 

OLD is the wind where Daphne sleeps,
That was so tender and so warm
With loving,—with a loveliness
Than her own laurel lovelier.

Now pipes the bitter wind for her,

5
And the snow sifts about her door,
While far below her frosty hill
The racing billows plunge and boom.