Xxv. To Phaon
*
"Sappho and Phaon", by Mary Robinson, [1796],
Xxv. To Phaon.
Canst thou forget, O! Idol of my Soul!
Thy Sapphos voice, her form, her dulcet Lyre!
That melting evry thought to fond desire,
Bade sweet delerium oer thy senses roll?
Canst thou, so soon, renounce the blest control
That calmd with pitys tears loves raging fire,
While Hope, slow breathing on the trembling wire,
In every note with soft persuasion stole?
Oh! Sovreign of my heart! return! return!
For me no spring appears, no summers bloom,
No Sun-beams glitter, and no altars burn!
The minds dark winter of eternal gloom,
Shews midst the waste a solitary urn,
A blighted laurel, and a mouldring tomb!
"Sappho and Phaon", by Mary Robinson, [1796],
Xxv. To Phaon.
Canst thou forget, O! Idol of my Soul!
Thy Sapphos voice, her form, her dulcet Lyre!
That melting evry thought to fond desire,
Bade sweet delerium oer thy senses roll?
Canst thou, so soon, renounce the blest control
That calmd with pitys tears loves raging fire,
While Hope, slow breathing on the trembling wire,
In every note with soft persuasion stole?
Oh! Sovreign of my heart! return! return!
For me no spring appears, no summers bloom,
No Sun-beams glitter, and no altars burn!
The minds dark winter of eternal gloom,
Shews midst the waste a solitary urn,
A blighted laurel, and a mouldring tomb!
