Sappho and Phaon: Sonnet XV

NOW round my favour'd grot let roses rise,
To strew the bank where Phaon wakes from rest :
O ! happy buds ! to kiss his burning breast,
And die beneath the lustre of his eyes !
Now let the timbrels echo to the skies,
Now damsels sprinkle cassia on his vest,
With od'rous wreaths of constant myrtle drest,
And flow'rs, deep tinted with the rainbow's dyes f
From cups of porphyry let nectar flow,
Rich as the perfume of Phoenicia's vine !
Now let his dimpling cheek with rapture glow,
While round his heart love's mystic fetters twine ;
And let the Grecian lyre its aid bestow,
In songs of triumph to proclaim him mine !