Sappho: One Hundred Lyrics Part 6

Come the words that bubble Up through broken laughter, Sweeter than spring-water, 15 "G.o.ds, I am so happy!"

XXIX

Ah, what am I but a torrent, Headstrong, impetuous, broken, Like the spent clamour of waters In the blue canyon?

Ah, what art thou but a fern-frond, 5 Wet with blown spray from the river, Diffident, lovely, sequestered, Frail on the rock-ledge?

Yet, are we not for one brief day, While the sun sleeps on the mountain, 10 Wild-hearted lover and loved one, Safe in Pan's keeping?

x.x.x

Love shakes my soul, like a mountain wind Falling upon the trees, When they are swayed and whitened and bowed As the great gusts will.

I know why Daphne sped through the grove 5 When the bright G.o.d came by, And shut herself in the laurel's heart For her silent doom.

Love fills my heart, like my lover's breath Filling the hollow flute, 10 Till the magic wood awakes and cries With remembrance and joy.

Ah, timid Syrinx, do I not know Thy tremor of sweet fear?

For a beautiful and imperious player 15 Is the lord of life.

x.x.xI

Love, let the wind cry On the dark mountain, Bending the ash-trees And the tall hemlocks, With the great voice of 5 Thunderous legions, How I adore thee.

Let the hoa.r.s.e torrent In the blue canyon, Murmuring mightily 10 Out of the grey mist Of primal chaos, Cease not proclaiming How I adore thee.

Let the long rhythm 15 Of crunching rollers, Breaking and bellowing On the white seaboard, t.i.tan and tireless, Tell, while the world stands, 20 How I adore thee.

Love, let the clear call Of the tree-cricket, Frailest of creatures, Green as the young gra.s.s, 25 Mark with his trilling Resonant bell-note, How I adore thee.

Let the glad lark-song Over the meadow, 30 That melting lyric Of molten silver, Be for a signal To listening mortals, How I adore thee. 35

But more than all sounds, Surer, serener, Fuller with pa.s.sion And exultation, Let the hushed whisper 40 In thine own heart say, How I adore thee.

x.x.xII

Heart of mine, if all the altars Of the ages stood before me, Not one pure enough nor sacred Could I find to lay this white, white Rose of love upon. 5

I who am not great enough to Love thee with this mortal body So impa.s.sionate with ardour, But oh, not too small to wors.h.i.+p While the sun shall s.h.i.+ne,-- 10

I would build a fragrant temple To thee, in the dark green forest, Of red cedar and fine sandal, And there love thee with sweet service All my whole life long. 15

I would freshen it with flowers, And the piney hill-wind through it Should be sweetened with soft fervours Of small prayers in gentle language Thou wouldst smile to hear. 20

And a tinkling Eastern wind-bell, With its fluttering inscription, From the rafters with bronze music Should r.e.t.a.r.d the quiet fleeting Of uncounted hours. 25

And my hero, while so human, Should be even as the G.o.ds are, In that shrine of utter gladness, With the tranquil stars above it And the sea below. 30

x.x.xIII

Never yet, love, in earth's lifetime, Hath any cunningest minstrel Told the one seventh of wisdom, Ravishment, ecstasy, transport, Hid in the hue of the hyacinth's 5 Purple in springtime.

Not in the lyre of Orpheus, Not in the songs of Musaeus, Lurked the unfathomed bewitchment Wrought by the wind in the gra.s.ses, 10 Held by the rote of the sea-surf, In early summer.

Only to exquisite lovers, Fas.h.i.+oned for beauty's fulfilment, Mated as rhythm to reed-stop 15 Whence the wild music is moulded, Ever appears the full measure Of the world's wonder.

x.x.xIV

"Who was Atthis?" men shall ask, When the world is old, and time Has accomplished without haste The strange destiny of men.

Haply in that far-off age 5 One shall find these silver songs, With their human freight, and guess What a lover Sappho was.

x.x.xV

When the great pink mallow Blossoms in the marshland, Full of lazy summer And soft hours,

Then I hear the summons 5 Not a mortal lover Ever yet resisted, Strange and far.

In the faint blue foothills, Making magic music, 10 Pan is at his love-work On the reeds.

I can guess the heart-stop, Fall and lull and sequence, Full of grief for Syrinx 15 Long ago.