The unfathomed Ocean of wide Death, at most,
And that familiar stream called sleep are one!
Phaon
Enough of this! I need you; nay, turn back
With me, and let one riotous flame of bliss
Forever burn away these withered griefs
As fire eats clean autumnal mountain-sides;
For all this sweet sad-eyed dissuasiveness
Endears like dew the flow’r of final love!
Sappho