Sappho: One Hundred Lyrics

by Bliss Carman


 

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,"

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    Prays one fond mortal.