They sent you in to say farewell to me, 
No, do not shake your head; I see your eyes 
That shine with tears. Sappho, you saw the sun 
Just now when you came hither, and again, 
When you have left me, all the shimmering 
Great meadows will laugh lightly, and the sun 
Put round about you warm invisible arms 
As might a lover, decking you with light. 
I go toward darkness tho' I lie so still. 
If I could see the sun, I should look up 
And drink the light until my eyes were blind; 
I should kneel down and kiss the blades of grass, 
And I should call the birds with such a voice, 
With such a longing, tremulous and keen, 
That they would fly to me and on the breast 
Bear evermore to tree-tops and to fields 
The kiss I gave them. Sappho, tell me this, 
Was I not sometimes fair? My eyes, my mouth, 
My hair that loved the wind, were they not worth 
The breath of love upon them? Yet he passed, 
And he will pass to-night when all the air 
Is blue with twilight; but I shall not see. 
I shall have gone forever. Hold my hands, 
Hold fast that Death may never come between; 
Swear by the gods you will not let me go; 
Make songs for Death as you would sing to Love -- 
But you will not assuage him. He alone 
Of all the gods will take no gifts from men. 
I am afraid, afraid.

Sappho, lean down. 
Last night the fever gave a dream to me, 
It takes my life and gives a little dream. 
I thought I saw him stand, the man I love, 
Here in my quiet chamber, with his eyes 
Fixed on me as I entered, while he drew 
Silently toward me -- he who night by night 
Goes by my door without a thought of me -- 
Neared me and put his hand behind my head, 
And leaning toward me, kissed me on the mouth. 
That was a little dream for Death to give, 
Too short to take the whole of life for, yet 
I woke with lips made quiet by a kiss. 
The dream is worth the dying. Do not smile 
So sadly on me with your shining eyes, 
You who can set your sorrow to a song 
And ease your hurt by singing. But to me 
My songs are less than sea-sand that the wind 
Drives stinging over me and bears away. 
I have no care what place the grains may fall, 
Nor of my songs, if Time shall blow them back, 
As land-wind breaks the lines of dying foam 
Along the bright wet beaches, scattering 
The flakes once more against the laboring sea, 
Into oblivion. What care have I 
To please Apollo since Love hearkens not? 
Your words will live forever, men will say 
"She was the perfect lover" -- I shall die, 
I loved too much to live. Go Sappho, go -- 
I hate your hands that beat so full of life, 
Go, lest my hatred hurt you. I shall die, 
But you will live to love and love again. 
He might have loved some other spring than this; 
I should have kept my life -- I let it go. 
He would not love me now tho' Cypris bound 
Her girdle round me. I am Death's, not Love's. 
Go from me, Sappho, back to find the sun.

I am alone, alone. O Cyprian...