Beside the sacred, moonlit streams,
where you breathed lines of honeydew,
they stole you from your isle of dreams
where Aphrodite smiled on you.
Blithe beauty-breathing poet child,
with lines sublimely speaking true:
you softly spoke and then you smiled
on holy isle, as you passed through.
T’ward coast, at dawn, they hurried you
to exile, ‘cross the sea beyond.
A kiss for friends, love’s brief adieu;
with tender tears they did respond.
Cruel hearts of hate that wished you harm;
did they affect you? Not at all!
Your pulse stayed slow; your face so calm,
serenely wrapped in sapphic shawl.
Your golden child, they let you bring,
along with books and poet’s quill.
These feathers on a poet’s wing
their hatred could not curse or kill.
They stole you from your isle of dreams,
where Aphrodite smiled on you:
The goddess girl who glowed and gleamed
while breathing lines of honeydew.