Smiling, with face immortal in its beauty,
Asking why I grieved, and why in utter longing
I had dared call thee;
Asking what I sought, thus hopeless in desiring,
Wildered in brain, and spreading nets of passion—
Alas, for whom? and saidst thou, 'Who has harmed thee?
'O my poor Sappho!
'Though now he flies, ere long he shall pursue thee;
'Fearing thy gifts, he too in turn shall bring them;
'Loveless to-day, to-morrow he shall woo thee,