XLIII

Surely somehow, in some measure,

There will be joy and fulfilment,—

Cease from this throb of desire,—

Even for Sappho!

Surely some fortunate hour

Phaon will come, and his beauty

Be spent like water to plenish

Need of that beauty!

Where is the breath of Poseidon,

Cool from the sea-floor with evening?

Why are Selene's white horses

So long arriving?