 | Fra Cipolla, and other poems |  |
104
FROM OVID'S EPISTLE OF SAPPHO TO PHAON.
Take the lyre and quiver,
And like Apollo be,
He, Daphne loves for ever,
Oh could she sing like me,
The cold nymph scorned his love, but she is still his tree.
And like Apollo be,
He, Daphne loves for ever,
Oh could she sing like me,
The cold nymph scorned his love, but she is still his tree.
Bid thy spirit's glory
Beam through thy golden hair,
'Tis said in poets' story
Such horns doth Bacchus wear,
He loved a museless maid, but Sappho must despair.
Beam through thy golden hair,
'Tis said in poets' story
Such horns doth Bacchus wear,
He loved a museless maid, but Sappho must despair.
| Fra Cipolla, and other poems | |