Fell, stricken lifeless, by her parent tree.
Persephone7, Persephone, this flow
Of barren tears! How couldst thou will it so?
Lament VI
Dear little Slavic Sappho8, we had thought,
Hearing thy songs so sweetly, deftly wrought,
That thou shouldst have an heritage one day
Beyond thy father’s lands: his lute to play.
For not an hour of daylight’s joyous round
But thou didst fill it full of lovely sound,