Classic Poem

Time , I know, is ruler, and Change almighty;
Youths become the old, and the aged corpses,
Corpses worms, worms dust, and the Mausoleum's
Self a tradition.

Be this thought but thought, and a pallor blanches
Bridal cheeks, and kisses of fire are frozen,
Swiftest blood is stayed, and alone thou smilest
Blithe and undaunted,

Who, secluse, a serious priest of Pallas,
Daily, nightly, patient accumulatest
Lore on lore, with gradual toil perfecting
Knowledge to wisdom.

Or who, holy, chapleted, Art's disciple,
Rapt in earthless glow and aspiring, ever,
Building, limning, sculpturing, singing, godlike
Beauty begettest.

Pomp and state to billowy corn I liken,
Random-sown, and reaped in its golden season,
Youth to roses,—are ye not, Art and Wisdom,
Laurel and ivy?

Thus I spoke in fervour, insanely deeming
Blunt the scythe of Time, and his glass retarded,
When, scarce breathed, stole sorrowful accents, ‘Say then,
Are we remembered?

We who erst, fleet-winged with desire ecstatic,
Fled the lips, and over the soul of Sappho
Hung sublime, loud larks in the blaze of æther
Panting and pouring.

Fiery-hearted strains, which, as eyes of eagles
Gaze alone on noonday intenseness, only
Gods might hear serene, nor be rapt and rave with
Frenzy delicious.

Tell us where—thou canst not!—a youth, a maiden
Plumes the eager lip with our lyric pinions.
Cry the hearts aloud in our grasp, like swallows
Snatched by the falcon?

Dead the lark of Lesbos, the swan of Leucas,
Chill disurnèd Helicon's fountain chanteth
Song of ours no more, neither do the planes of
Attica hear us.

Scrolless, Museless, bodiless, lyreless, lipless,
Empty shade are we, and an idle rumour,
Rich Oblivion's trophy—How then call'st Art and
Beauty immortal?’

Voices dear, I pray ye by Hippocrene,
By the cliffs, the vines, and the rills of Lesbos,
By this heart's vibration I pray ye, spare my
Beautiful vision,

Spare my one poor raft in a world of waters!
Changed, not silent I deem ye yet, the ample
Earth your home, not scrolls, and the voice of Nature's
Self your expression.

When, each wave a separate leap of brightness,
Glitters far-spread Ocean, or roaring renders
Thunder dumb, or strays with a sweet encroachment
Over the beaches:

When the tune of winds, and the bird's recital
Blend in vale, in thicket—O let me deem then
Birds and winds thy harps, and that Ocean peals thy
Harmony, Sappho.