Upon his knee she laid her head,
Refusing to be comforted;
“Unkind—unkind—” was all she said.
Denied she stole; confessed she did;
Glad of such plunder to be rid—
Clutching the place where it was hid.
As he forgave she snatched his soul;
She did not want it, but she stole.
To a Song of Sappho discovered in Egypt
And Sappho’s flowers, so few,