As Sappho’s sweetly singing,
a sacrifice she’s bringing.
For sorrow soldiers shed,
for blood they’ve bravely bled.
To set sweet Sappho free
to plant her poetry
in land of Grecian lilies
where sword of brave Achilles
was bathed in bloody clot
and she has not forgot!
Poor Hector on his pyre,
she plays upon her lyre!
An ode set down in song.
For peace her soul does long.