Sappho and Phaon: Sonnet XIX

FAREWELL, ye coral caves, ye pearly sands,
Ye waving woods that crown yon lofty steep :
Farewell, ye Nereides of the glitt'ring deep,
Ye mountain tribes, ye fawns, ye sylvan bands ;
On the bleak rock your frantic minstrel stands,
Each task forgot, save that, to sigh and weep :
In vain the strings her burning fingers sweep,
No more her touch the Grecian lyre commands !
In Circe's cave my faithless Phaon's laid,
Her demons dress his brow with opiate flow'rs ;
Or, loit'ring in the brown pomegranate shade,
Beguile with am'rous strains the fateful hours ;
While Sappho's lips, to paly ashes fade,
And sorrow's cank'ring worm her heart devours !