Author Sappho THOU liest dead, and there will be no memory left behind Of thee or thine in all the earth, for never didst thou bind The roses of Pierian streams upon thy brow; thy doom Is now to flit with unknown ghosts in cold and nameless gloom. Tags memory poetry rose love poem love poems love poems for her love poetry poems about love romantic poems Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments