T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
A Little Maid of Sappho
By George Sylvester Viereck (1884–1962)(From The Candle and the Flame, 1912) O LITTLE siren of the rose-white skin, | |
| Reared to strange music and to stranger sin, | |
| With scornful lips that move to no man’s plea— | |
| O little Maid of Sappho, come to me! | |
| Beneath long lashes downcast eyes and coy, | 5 |
| Yet uninitiate to no secret joy! | |
| O bud burst open ere her day begun, | |
| The virgin and the strumpet blent in one! | |
| Come close to me! Lay your small hand in mine, | |
| And drink the music of my words like wine. | 10 |
| And let me touch your little breasts that swell | |
| With joy remembered where her kisses fell … | |
| Ah! she whose wise caressive fingers strike | |
| Your heart-strings and the cithara alike! | |
| By what love-potion is your passion fanned, | 15 |
| What is the magic of that wary hand? | |
| What is the secret of her strange caress, | |
| Fierce, tortured kisses, or the tenderness | |
| That woman gives to woman—flame or snow? | |
| I, too, can kiss or bruise you. You shall know | 20 |
| That love like mine is delicate as hers, | |
| Or madder still, to madder passion stirs, | |
| That shall consume you like some fiery sea— | |
| O little Maid of Sappho, come to me! | |
| Or is it song that sets your blood on fire? | 25 |
| Behold in me no novice to the lyre. | |
| Who is this woman Sappho? I can sing | |
| Like her of Eros. Yea, each voiceless thing, | |
| The very rocks of Mytilene’s strand | |
| Shall be made vocal at your sweet command. | 30 |
| Hers but the cooing of the Lesbian lutes, | |
| Mine every passion in the heart that roots. | |
| Albeit your sweetness lives in Sappho’s song, | |
| Her love is barren … and the years are long. | |
| And how she sang, and how she loved and erred, | 35 |
| Only by moonsick women will be heard. | |
| The lyric thunder that my hand has hurled | |
| Shall ring with resonant music through the world, | |
| Quickening the blood in every lover’s breast, | |
| And then your beauty on my glory’s crest | 40 |
| Shall ride, a goddess to eternity— | |
| O little Maid of Sappho, come to me! | |
| Unscathed in Love’s dominion I have been, | |
| And still a sceptic kissed the mouth of Sin. | |
| Love seemed the dreariest of all things on earth | 45 |
| Until my passion filled your heart with mirth! | |
| Like frightened bird my cynic wisdom flies | |
| Before the cruel candour of your eyes. | |
| As for sweet rain a valley sick with drouth, | |
| Thus thirsts my love for your indifferent mouth! | 50 |
| And still your thoughts are wandering to the dell | |
| Where Sappho walks and where her minions dwell … | |
| Be then, of maidens most corrupt, most chaste, | |
| The one delight that I shall never taste! | |
| And through the dreary æons yet unborn | 55 |
| The love of you shall rankle like a thorn! | |
| Leave one last thrill for my sad heart to crave | |
| In the ennui of heaven or the grave!… | |
| Incite my passion, my embraces flee— | |
| And never, never, never come to me! | 60 |
| O listen, listen to my heart-beat’s call! | |
| Aught else I say, it is not true at all. | |
| She has her maidens whom her soft ways woo, | |
| And they to her are no less dear than you. | |
| For your dear sake I gladly fling aside | 65 |
| Laurels and loves! A beggar stripped of pride, | |
| I only know I need you more than she— | |
| O little Maid of Sappho, come to me! | |