THE TRUE STORY OF SAPPHO’S DEATH
Deciphered—with much labour—by a bomb-thrower of the
New Zealand Infantry Brigade from a very old tablet
dug up in the trenches at Quinn’s Post
The Isles of Greece! The Isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho sang,
Both day and night, without surcease—
She didn’t care a hang!
She sang so much by night, by day—
She couldn’t sing at all.
Her manager he docked her pay:
She didn’t fill the hall!
At length, distraught, in fiendish glee,
From cliffs that I have seen,
She flung herself into the sea,
One mile from Mitylene!
’Twas thus that Sappho bold did end
Her gay, voluptuous days;
And monks, who never can unbend,
Press-censored all her lays!
The moral of this tale is that
You guard what Deus sends:
You cannot burn the candle-fat
At both the candle ends!
M. R.
[Note.—The epic loses much of its beauty through a hurried translation from the Ancient Greek during a Turkish attack.]
