I took my guitar to the sea and said:
'Come now heaven, these fingers bled,
Wrangle and rain for thoughts you deign
And all the listeners dumb shall proclaim,
Strings are merely— vibrations of the soul
And soul is merely one mirror to the gods,
Take my dying art and throw it— to wind
My soul shall be ever, one with your kin.'
I Took My Lyre
I took my lyre and said:
Come now, my heavenly
tortoise shell: become
a speaking instrument
— Sappho, ( circa 600 B.C. )