Sappho and Phaon, by Mary Robinson, , at sacred-texts.com
Oh Sigh! thou stealst, the herald of the breast,
The lovers fears, the lovers pangs to tell;
Thou bidst with timid grace the bosom swell,
Cheating the day of joy, the night of rest!
Oh! lucid Tears! with eloquence confest,
Why on my fading cheek unheeded dwell,
Meek, as the dew-drops on the flowrets bell
By ruthless tempests to the green-sod prest.
Fond sigh be hushd! congeal, O! slighted tear!
Thy feeble powrs the busy Fates control!
Or if thy crystal streams again appear,
Let them, like Lethes, oblivion roll:
For Love the tyrant plays, when hope is near,
And she who flies the lover, chains the soul!