Why art thou chang`d? O Phaon! tell me why? Love flies reproach, when passion feels decay; Or, I would paint the raptures of that day, When, in sweet converse, mingling sigh with sigh, I mark`d the graceful languor of thine eye As on a shady bank entranc`d we lay: O! Eyes! whose beamy radiance stole away As stars fade trembling from the burning sky! Why art thou chang`d? dear source of all my woes! Though dark my bosom`s tint, through ev`ry vein A ruby tide of purest lustre flows, Warm`d by thy love, or chill`d by thy disdain; And yet no bliss this sensate Being knows; Ah! why is rapture so allied to pain?SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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