God! Thou art love! I build my faith on that.
Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.
Day! Faster and more fast. O'er night's brim, day boils at last.
Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!
There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with for evil so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.
Sappho survives, because we sing her songs; And Eschylus, because we read his plays!