I Dreamed Of Sappho On A Summer Night. Her Nightingales Were Singing In The Trees Beside The Castled River; And The Wind Fell Like A Woman'S Fingers On My Cheek. And Then I Slept And Dreamed And Marked No Change; The Night Went On With Me Into My Dream. This Only I Remember, That I Cried: "O Sappho! Ere I Leave This Paradise, Sing Me One Song Of Those Lost Books Of Yours For Which We Poets Still Go Sorrowing; That When I Meet My Fellows On The Earth I May Rejoice Them More Than Many Pearls;" And She, The Sweetly Smiling, Answered Me, As One Who Dreams, "I Have Forgotten Them."