That every lover may be given love.
I shall not hasten lest the paving-stones
Should echo with my sandals and awake
Those who are warm beneath the cloak of sleep;
Lest they should rise and see me and should say:
“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.