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Mary Darby Robinson - Sonnet IV: Why, When I Gaze
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Why, when I gaze on Phaon`s beauteous eyes,
Why does each thought in wild disorder stray?
Why does each fainting faculty decay,
And my chill`d breast in throbbing tumults rise?
Mute, on the ground my Lyre neglected lies,
The Muse forgot, and lost the melting lay;
My down-cast looks, my faultering lips betray,
That stung by hopeless passion,—Sappho dies!
Now, on a bank of Cypress let me rest;
Come, tuneful maids, ye pupils of my care,
Come, with your dulcet numbers soothe my breast;
And, as the soft vibrations float on air,
Let pity waft my spirit to the blest,
To mock the barb`rous triumphs of despair!
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