Florence Earle Coates (Флоренс Эрл Коутс)

Sappho

As a wan weaver in an attic dim,
⁠     Hopeless yet patient, so he may be fed
⁠     With scanty store of sorrow-seasoned bread,
⁠     Heareth a blithe bird carol over him,
And sees no longer walls and rafters grim,
⁠     But rural lanes where little feet are led
     ⁠Through springing flowers, fields with clover spread,
⁠     Clouds, swan-like, that o'er depths of azure swim,—
So, when upon our earth-dulled ear new breaks
     ⁠Some fragment, Sappho, of thy skyey song,
     A noble wonder in our souls awakes;
The deathless Beautiful draws strangely nigh,
⁠     And we look up, and marvel how so long
     ⁠We were content to drudge for sordid joys that die. 

1. Let Me Believe
2. By the Conemaugh
3. First and Last
4. To the Tsar (1890)
5. Love Sailed at Morn

Charles Kingsley (Чарльз Кингсли) Sappho ("She lay among the myrtles on the cliff")

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