One Girl
I II by Sappho
Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
A-top on the topmost twig, - which the pluckers forgot somehow, -
Forgot it not, nay, but got it not, for none could get it till now.
Like the wild hyacinth flower which on the hills is found,
Which the passing feet of the sheperds forever tear and wound,
Until the purple blossom is trodden into the ground.
Alone
From childhood's hour I have not been by Edgar Allan Poe
Longing
The silver moon is set; by Sappho
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then - in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
The Pleiades are gone
Half the long night is spent, and yet
I lie alone.
