Читать книгу Sapphic Classics - Sappho - Страница 70

Table of Contents

What the west wind whispers

At the end of summer,

When the barley harvest

Ripens to the sickle,

Who can tell? 5

What means the fine music

Of the dry cicada,

Through the long noon hours

Of the autumn stillness,

Who can say? 10

How the grape ungathered

With its bloom of blueness

Greatens on the trellis

Of the brick-walled garden,

Who can know? 15

Yet I, too, am greatened,

Keep the note of gladness,

Travel by the wind's road,

Through this autumn leisure—

By thy love. 20