Sappho and Phaon: Sonnet XXVII

Oh! ye bright stars! that on the ebon fields
Of heav'n's vast empire, trembling seem to stand ;
'Till rosy morn unlocks her portal bland,
Where the proud sun his fiery banner wields !
To flames, less fierce than mine, your lustre yields,
And pow'rs more strong my countless tears command ;
Love strikes the feeling heart with ruthless hand,
And only spares the breast which dulness shields !
Since, then, capricious nature but bestows
The fine affections of the soul, to prove
A keener sense of desolating woes,
Far, far from me the empty boast remove;
If bliss from coldness, pain from passion flows,
Ah ! who would wish to feel, or learn to love ?