Mary Robinson (Мэри Робинсон)

Sonnet 18. Why Art Thou Chang’d?

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?

1. Ode to Envy
2. Sonnet 38. Oh Sigh
3. Stanzas Written under an Oak in Windsor Forest
4. Sonnet 31. Far O’er the Waves
5. Sonnet 41. Yes, I Will Go

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1129

Последние стихотворения

To English version