Sappho and Phaon, by Mary Robinson, , at sacred-texts.com
Where antique woods oer-hang the mountainss crest,
And mid-day glooms in solemn silence lour;
Philosophy, go seek a lonely bowr,
And waste lifes fervid noon in fancied rest.
Go, where the bird of sorrow weaves her nest,
Cooing, in sadness sweet, through nights dim hour;
Go, cull the dew-drops from each potent flowr
That medcines to the cold and reasning breast!
Go, where the brook in liquid lapse steals by,
Scarce heard amidst the mingling echoes round,
What time, the noon fades slowly down the sky,
And slumbring zephyrs moan, in caverns bound:
Be these thy pleasures, dull Philosophy!
Nor vaunt the balm, to heal a lovers wound.