Ode to Sappho’s Flowers

Oh Young Queen your Beauty I call Upon

Your words oh so Silent Iotas

They mean nothing to others but Lovers

Their speech oh so muffled and wanting form

As remembered as never Desired

With all consent drawn their Prime Unwanting

And to Want for Want itself and Submit

Peace all Vanity permits Forever

Emotional distance grow Nearer my Hands

Gives the Virgins their Beautiful Flowers

What Cessations of Violins wil Buffer

To Sing and Sing and Sing of my Rapture

If by your Image your Aegis Grant

She who I love I behold and Decant.

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