The Poems of Sappho, by John Myers O'Hara, [1910]
Just now the golden-sandalled Dawn
Peered through the lattice of my room;
Why must thou fare so soon, my Phaon?
Last night I met thee at the shore,
A thousand hues were in the sky;
The breeze from Cyprus blew, my Phaon!
I drew, to lave thy heated brow,
My kerchief dripping from the sea;
Why hadst thou sailed so far, my Phaon?
Far up the narrow mountain paths
We heard the shepherds fluting home;
Like some white God thou seemed, my Phaon!
And through the olive trees we saw
The twinkle of my vesper lamp;
Wilt kiss me now as then, my Phaon?
Nay, loosen not with gentle force
The clasp of my restraining arms;
I will not let thee go, my Phaon!
See, deftly in my trailing robe
I spring and draw the lattice close;
Is it not night again, my Phaon?