Sappho of Lesbos (as translated by Dante Gabriel Rosetti)

Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
A-top on the topmost twig, -----which
the pluckers forgot somehow, -----
Forget it not, nay, but got it not,
for none could get it till now. 

A single blossoming, miraculously dewy still, fresh music from beyond the seas of time.

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