Earth is a thirsty drinker,
The trees drink from its bosom,
The ocean drinks the wet winds,
The fiery sun the ocean,
The moon drinks in the sun's light.
Then why, my friends, be angry,
Because I love to drink too.


Full -bosomed maids of Chio!
Around your auburn tresses
The woven roses twining,
Now sport in circling dances.
The moon is on the ocean,
The light, loose clouds around her
Their fleecy heaps are piling,
And gird her with a halo:
No longer from the billow
The fresh sea-wind is stealing;
His pinions wet with night-dew,
And bathed in liquid odors,
He slumbers on the flower-bed,
And lies till morning wake him.
Then come, ye maids of Chio!
And while your dark eyes sparkle,
Full eyes of living brightness,
Weave in your mazy dances
The flowery chain of Ero,
And round our yielding bosoms
Its rings of roses linking,
Give us those glowing kisses,
That drop the tempting treasures
Of Aphrodite's nectar.


D EAR girl of Mytilene!
Thy dark locks loosely flowing,
Thy full, round, jet eye sparkling
With soul-subduing glances,
Thy brown cheek flushed and glowing,
Thy lips, like opening rose-buds
Their earliest balm exhaling,
Thy slender hands of coral,
Whose light and fairy fingers,
The cittern sweetly tuning,
Awake the song of Sappho,
And echo, “Lovely Phaon!
Adored, but cruel Phaon!”
Dear girl of Mytilene!
Beneath the bending vine-bower,
That hangs its loaded clusters
Full-swoln with purple nectar,
And o'er the vaulted trellis
Its tendrils, wildly ramping,
With broad, green leaves inwoven,
Shut out the star and moonlight,—
Dear girl of Mytilene!
As in that secret bower
Thy love-lorn song is flowing,
The shepherd, on the moss bank
All silvered o'er with moonlight,
Beside a dimpling fountain,
Shall play upon his tabret,
Responsive to thy echoes,
The dying song of Sappho
To loved, but cruel Phaon.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.