Classic Poem

S APPHO , while your Muse of fire,
Listening to the vocal spheres,
Sits and tempers to her lyre
Airs divine for mortal ears:

Viewing higher orbs that glow,
Ever constant, ever true,
Still she dreams to find below
Perfect forms, as Heaven and you.

Blame not Asia's fair, who glances
Random smiles in heedless ease,
Shifts at will her wayward fancies,
Pleasing all, whom all can please;

Blame her not — no envied treasure
Is the tenderer, feeling heart,
Bosoms quick to keener pleasure
Beat, alas! as quick to smart.

Who with eyes that ever languish,
Still to desarts sighs alone?
Who consumes her youth in anguish?
She who keeps a heart for one.

Tender love repaid with treason,
Fortune's frowns, parental power,
Blast her in the vernal season,
Bend her, unsupported flower.

Happier she, with pliant nature
Fleeting, fickle as the wind;
She, who proving one a traitor,
Turns to meet another kind.

Blame her not — with Asian rovers
What can Asia's fair pursue?
What? but lessons taught by lovers,
Like the traitor, treacherous too.

Why should faith, obsequious duty,
Soothe an eastern tyrant's scorn?
Who but rifles joyless beauty,
Steals the honey, leaves the thorn.

Sadness sits by Ganges' fountains;
How can echo cheer the vale?
What repeat from fragrant mountains?
What but grief and horror's tale?

What but shrieks of wild despair?
What but shouts that murder sleep?
There the struggling, fainting fair;
There — but see my Sappho weep!

Change the strain! — this mournful measure
Melts, oppresses virtuous hearts —
Sappho, wake thy lyre of pleasure!
Sing of Europe's happier arts!

Sing of all the mingled blessing
Reason, tempering passion, knows;
All the transport of possessing
Unpluck'd beauty's willing rose!

Sing of that refin'd sensation
Mutual melting bosoms prove,
Souls exchang'd, sweet emanation,
Separate being lost in love!

Rapture's tears, voluptuous stream!
Languor stealing sorrow's sighs;
Sing of love — thyself the theme!
Sing of love — thyself the prize!