Sappho to Apollo
K. Weigl
My eyes are strained,
My hands are drained,
How can I serve the heav'nly muse?
Cruse of thy grace appeared overflowing:
Did not some globules come down
On hands to heav'n uplifted?
Ev'rything withered and drained.
Ah! a breath of air gained,
As from dead fires hither drifted.