“SAPPHO, WITH THAT GLORIOLE OF EBON HAIR ON CALMÈD BROWS— O POET-WOMAN! NONE FORGOES THE LEAP, ATTAINING THE REPOSE.” THE POETRY OF SAPPHO.—If all the poets and all the lovers of poetry should be asked to name the most precious of the priceless things which time has wrung in tribute from the triumphs of human genius, the answer which would rush to every tongue would be “The Lost Poems of Sappho.” These we know to have been jewels of a radiance so imperishable that the broken gleams of them still dazzle men’s eyes, whether shining from the two small brilliants and the handful of star-dust which alone remain to us, or reflected merely from the adoration of those poets of old time who were so …
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