Listen, he flies to her, back thro’ the dark!
Sappho, of old time, once.... Yea, Spring
Calls him home to her, hark!
Sappho, long since, in the years far sped,
Sappho, I loved thee! Did I not seem
Fosterling only of earth? I have fled,
Fled to thee, sister. Time is a dream!
Shelley is here with us! Death lies dead!
Ah, how the bright waves gleam.
Wide was the cage-door, idly swinging;