Sappho and Phaon: Sonnet XXV

Canst thou forget, O ! idol of my soul!
Thy Sappho's voice, her form, her dulcet lyre !
That melting ev'ry thought to fond desire,
Bade sweet delirium o'er thy senses roll ?
Can'st thou, so soon, renounce the blest control
That calm'd with pity's tears love's raging fire,
While hope, slow breathing on the trembling wire,
In ev'ry note with soft persuasion stole ?
Oh ! sov'reign of my heart ! return ! return !
For me no spring appears, no summers bloom,
No sun-beams glitter, and no altars burn !
The mind's dark winter of eternal gloom
Shews 'midst the waste a solitary urn,
A blighted laurel, and a mould'ring tomb !