When love was in its passion-rose,
You said—“You’ll sing of this,
And crown your brow with laurel-leaves”
I promised with a kiss.
But when love was in its passion-rose
I could not sing, nor laugh—
Though I was born to merriment,
To singing and to chaff.
Now love has lost its passion-rose,
Dead-petalled on its thorn—
I sing from morn till evening . . .
But I weep from eve till morn!
A draft of “Once Sappho Sang” with Higginson’s revisions, courtesy of the Ella Higginson Papers, Center for Pacific Northwest Studies, Heritage Resources, Western Washington University, Bellingham Washington.