If I Must GoIf I must go to heaven's endClimbing the ages like a stair,Be near me and forever bendWith the same eyes above me there;Time will fly past us like leaves flying,We shall not heed, for we shall beBeyond living, beyond dying,Knowing and known unchangeably.

Only In SleepOnly in sleep I see their faces,Children I played with when I was a child,Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,Annie with ringlets warm and wild.Only in sleep Time is forgotten --What may have come to them, who can know?Yet we played last night as long ago,And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces,I met their eyes and found them mild --Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder,And for them am I too a child?

The UnchangingSun-swept beaches with a light wind blowingFrom the immense blue circle of the sea,And the soft thunder where long waves whiten—These were the same for Sappho as for me.Two thousand years—much has gone by forever,Change takes the gods and ships and speech of men—But here on the beaches that time passes overThe heart aches now as then.

Only in sleep I see their faces,Children I played with when I was a child,Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,Annie with ringlets warm and wild.Only in sleep Time is forgotten–What may have come to them, who can know?Yet we played last night as long ago,And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.The years had not sharpened their smooth around faces, I met their eyes and found them mild–Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder,And for them am I, too, a child?

Never again the music blown as brightlyOff of my heart as foam blown off a wave;Never again the melody that lightly Caressed my grief and healed the wounds it gave.Never again–I hear my dark thoughts clashingSullen and blind as waves that beat a wall–Age that is coming, summer that is going,All I have lost or never found at all.

She must be rich who can foregoAn hour so jewelled with delight,She must have teasuries of joyThat she can draw on day and night,She must be very sure of heaven–Or is it only that she feelsHow much more safe it is to lackA thing that time so often steals.

Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten, Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten forever and ever, Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.