moon cover their own
bright faces
when she
is roundest and lights
earth with her silver
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Sleep, darling
daughter calledCleis, who islike a goldenflowerI wouldn’ttake all Croesus’kingdom with lovethrown in, for her—Don’t ask me what to wearI have no embroideredheadband from Sardis togive you, Cleis, such asI woreand my motheralways said that in herday a purple ribbonlooped in the hair was thoughtto be high style indeedbut we were dark:a girlwhose hair is yellower…
Thy form is lovely and thine eyes are honeyed,
Clear light of love lies like a veil.Bidding thee rise,With outstretched hands,Before thee Aphrodite stands.
That man, whoever he may be,
Hearing thy lovely laugh, thy speech,Throned with the gods he seems to me;For when a moment to mine eyesThy form discloses, silentlyI stand consumed with fires that riseLike flames around a sacrifice.Sight have I none, bells out of tuneRing in mine ears, my tongue lies dumb;Paler than grass in later June,Yet daring all(To thee I…
THE stars about the lovely moon
When, round and full, her silver faceSwims into sight, and lights all space
I’ve a garden, a garden of dreams,
Softly the apple-sprays,And from leaves that shimmer and quiverDown on mine eyelids streamsA slumber-river.
Must I remind you, Cleis,
are unbecoming ina poet’s household?and that they are notsuitable in ours?Sapphotr. Barnard