Sappho and Phaon, by Mary Robinson, , at sacred-texts.com
O! How can Love exulting Reason queil!
How fades each nobler passion from his gaze!
Een Fame, that cherishes the Poets lays,
That fame, ill-fated Sappho lovd so well.
Lost is the wretch, who in his fatal spell
Wastes the short Summer of delicious days,
And from the tranquil path of wisdom strays,
In passions thorny wild, forlorn to dwell.
O ye! who in that sacred Temple smile
Where holy Innocence resides enshrind;
Who fear not sorrow, and who know not guile,
Each thought composd, and evry wish resignd;
Tempt not the path where pleasures flowry wile
In sweet, but poisnous fetters, holds the mind.