Sappho and Phaon, by Mary Robinson, , at sacred-texts.com
Ye, who in alleys green and leafy bowrs,
Sport, the rude children of fantastic birth;
Where frolic nymphs, and shaggy tribes of mirth,
In clamrous revels waste the midnight hours;
Who, linkd in flaunting bands of mountain flowrs,
Weave your wild mazes oer the dewy earth,
Ere the fierce Lord of Lustre rushes forth,
And oer the world his beamy radiance pours!
Oft has your clanking cymbals maddning strain,
Loud ringing through the torch-illumind grove,
Lurd my lovd Phaon from the youthful train,
Through rugged dells, oer craggy rocks to rove;
Then how can she his vagrant heart detain,
Whose Lyre throbs only to the touch of Love!