SAPPHO'S TOMB

In an old and ashen island,

Beside a city grey with death,

They are seeking Sappho's tomb!

Beneath a vineyard ruinous

And a broken-columned temple

They are delving where she sleeps!

There between a lonely valley

Filled with noonday silences

And the headlands of soft violet

Where the sapphire seas still whisper,

Whisper with her sigh;

Through a country sad with wonder

Men are seeking vanished Sappho,

Men are searching for the tomb

Of muted Song!

They will find a Something there,

In a cavern where no sound is,

In a room of milky marble

Walled with black amphibolite

Over-scored with faded words

And stained with time!

Sleeping in a low-roofed chamber,

With her phials of perfume round her,

In a terra-cotta coffin

With her image on the cover,

Childish echo of her beauty

Etched in black and gold barbaric —

Lift it slowly, slowly, seekers,

Or your search will end in dust!

With a tiny nude Astarte,

Bright with gilt and gravely watching

Over grass-green malachite,

Over rubies pale, and topaz,

And the crumbled dust of pearls!

With her tarnished silver mirror,

With her rings of beaten gold,

With her robes of faded purple,

And the stylus that so often

Traced the azure on her eyelids,—

Eyelids delicate and weary,

Drooping, over-wise!

And at her head will be a plectron

Made of ivory, worn with time,

And a flute and gilded lyre

Will be found beside her feet,

And two little yellow sandals,

And crude serpents chased in silver

On her ankle rings —

And a cloud of drifting dust

All her shining hair!

In that lost and lonely tomb

They may find her;

Find the arms that ached with rapture,

Softly folded on a breast

That for evermore is silent;

Find the eyes no longer wistful,

Find the lips no longer singing,

And the heart, so hot and wayward

When that ashen land was young,

Cold through all the mists of time,

Cold beneath the Lesbian marble

In the low-roofed room

That drips with tears!