I hardly know the path from those old times;
  I know at first it was a smoother one
Than this that hurries past me now, and climbs
  So high, its far cliffs even hide the sun
  And shroud in gloom my journey scarce begun. 
    I could not do quite all the world required—­
  I could not do quite all I should have done,
  And in my eagerness I have outrun
      My strength—­and I am tired....

Just tired!  But when of old I had the stay
  Of mother-hands, O very sweet indeed
It was to dream that all the weary way
  I should but follow where I now must lead—­
  For long ago they left me in my need,
    And, groping on alone, I tripped and mired
  Among rank grasses where the serpents breed
  In knotted coils about the feet of speed.—­
      There first it was I tired.

And yet I staggered on, and bore my load
  Right gallantly:  The sun, in summer-time,
In lazy belts came slipping down the road
  To woo me on, with many a glimmering rhyme
  Rained from the golden rim of some fair clime,
    That, hovering beyond the clouds, inspired
  My failing heart with fancies so sublime
  I half forgot my path of dust and grime,
      Though I was growing tired.

And there were many voices cheering me: 
  I listened to sweet praises where the wind
Went laughing o’er my shoulders gleefully
  And scattering my love-songs far behind;—­
  Until, at last, I thought the world so kind—­
    So rich in all my yearning soul desired—­
  So generous—­so loyally inclined,
  I grew to love and trust it....  I was blind—­
      Yea, blind as I was tired!

And yet one hand held me in creature-touch: 
  And O, how fair it was, how true and strong,
How it did hold my heart up like a crutch,
  Till, in my dreams, I joyed to walk along
  The toilsome way, contented with a song—­
    ’Twas all of earthly things I had acquired,
  And ’twas enough, I feigned, or right or wrong,
  Since, binding me to man—­a mortal thong—­
    It stayed me, growing tired....

Yea, I had e’en resigned me to the strait
  Of earthly rulership—­had bowed my head
Acceptant of the master-mind—­the great
  One lover—­lord of all,—­the perfected
  Kiss-comrade of my soul;—­had stammering said
    My prayers to him;—­all—­all that he desired
  I rendered sacredly as we were wed.—­
  Nay—­nay!—­’twas but a myth I worshipped.—­
      And—­God of love!—­how tired!

[Illustration:  (An out-worn Sappho)]

For, O my friends, to lose the latest grasp—­
  To feel the last hope slipping from its hold—­
To feel the one fond hand within your clasp
  Fall slack, and loosen with a touch so cold
  Its pressure may not warm you as of old
    Before the light of love had thus expired—­
  To know your tears are worthless, though they rolled
  Their torrents out in molten drops of gold.—­
      God’s pity!  I am tired!