Читать книгу Sapphic Classics - Sappho - Страница 49

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Softer than the hill-fog to the forest

Are the loving hands of my dear lover,

When she sleeps beside me in the starlight

And her beauty drenches me with rest.

As the quiet mist enfolds the beech-trees, 5

Even as she dreams her arms enfold me,

Half awaking with a hundred kisses

On the scarlet lily of her mouth.