A LITTLE MAID OF SAPPHO
by: George Sylvester Viereck
(1884-1962)
- LITTLE siren of the rose-white
skin,
- Reared to strange music and to stranger sin,
- With scornful lips that move to no man's plea--
- O little Maid of Sappho, come to me!
-
- Beneath long lashes downcast eyes and coy,
- Yet uninitiate to no secret joy!
- A bud burst open ere her day begun,
- The virgin and the strumpet blent in one!
- Come close to me! Lay your small hand in mine,
- And drink the music of my words like wine.
- And let me touch your little breasts that swell
- With joy remembered where her kisses fell ...
- Ah! she whose wise caressive fingers strike
- Your heart-strings and the cithara alike!
- By what love-potion is your passion fanned,
- What is the magic of that wary hand?
- What is the secret of her strange caress,
- Fierce, tortured kisses, or the tenderness
- That woman gives to woman--flame or snow?
- I, too, can kiss or bruise you. You shall know
- That love like mine is delicate as hers,
- Or madder still, to madder passion stirs,
- That shall consume you like some fiery sea--
- O little Maid of Sappho, come to me!
-
- Or is it song that sets your blood on fire?
- Behold in me no novice to the lyre.
- Who is this woman Sappho? I can sing
- Like her of Eros. Yea, each voiceless thing,
- The very rocks of Mytilene's strand
- Shall be made vocal at your sweet command.
- Hers but the cooing of the Lesbian lutes,
- Mine every passion in the heart that roots,
- Albeit your sweetness lives in Sappho's song,
- Her love is barren ... and the years are long.
- And how she sang, and how she loved and cried,
- Only by moonsick women will be heard.
- The lyric thunder that my hand has hurled
- Shall ring with resonant music through the world,
- Quickening the blood in every lover's breast,
- And then your beauty on my glory's crest
- Shall ride, a goddess to eternity--
- O little Maid of Sappho, come to me!
-
- Unscathed in Love's dominion I have been,
- And still a sceptic kissed the mouth of Sin.
- Love seemed the dreariest of all things on earth
- Until my passion filled your heart with mirth!
- Like frightened bird my cynic wisdom flies
- Before the cruel candour of your eyes.
- As for sweet rain a valley sick with drouth,
- Thus thirsts my love for your indifferent mouth!
- And still your thoughts are wandering to the dell
- Where Sappho walks and where her minions dwell ...
- Be then, of maidens most corrupt, most chaste,
- The one delight that I shall never taste!
- And through the dreary æons yet unborn
- The love of you shall rankle like a thorn!
- Leave one last thrill for my sad heart to crave
- In the ennui of heaven or the grave! ...
- Incite my passion, my embraces flee--
- And never, never, never come to me!
-
- O listen, listen to my heart-beat's call!
- Aught else I say, it is not true at all.
- She has her maidens whom her soft ways woo,
- And they to her are no less dear than you.
- For your dear sake I gladly fling aside
- Laurels and loves! A beggar stripped of pride,
- I only know I need you more than she--
- O little Maid of Sappho, come to me!
"A Little Maid of Sappho"
is reprinted from The Candle and the Flame. George Sylvester
Viereck. New York: Moffat, Yard & Co., 1912. |
MORE POEMS BY GEORGE SYLVESTER VIERECK |
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