XLIII
Surely somehow, in some measure,
There will be joy and fulfilment,—
Cease from this throb of desire,—
Even for Sappho!
Surely some fortunate hour
Phaon will come, and his beauty
Be spent like water to plenish
Need of that beauty!
Where is the breath of Poseidon,
Cool from the sea-floor with evening?
Why are Selene’s white horses
So long arriving?