T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
A Little Maid of Sappho
By George Sylvester Viereck (18841962)(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! | |