Shall pass, but never Sappho’s feet again.
...
‘Whither goes Sappho lonely in the night?’
Whither goes Sappho? Whither all men go,
But they go driven, straining back with fear,
And Sappho goes as lightly as a leaf
Blown from brown autumn forests to the sea.
...
Yet they shall say: ‘It was for Cercolas—
She died because she could not bear her love.’