Lines by Sappho — Imaginary
SWEET girls! upon whose breast that God descends
Whom first ye pray to come, and next to spare,
O tell me whither now his course he bends,
Tell my what hymn shall thither waft my prayer!
Alas! my voice and lyre alike he flies,
And only in my dreams, nor kindly then, replies.
Whom first ye pray to come, and next to spare,
O tell me whither now his course he bends,
Tell my what hymn shall thither waft my prayer!
Alas! my voice and lyre alike he flies,
And only in my dreams, nor kindly then, replies.
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