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Poem by Mary Robinson
Sonnet 32. Blest As the Gods
Blest as the Gods! Sicilian Maid is he, The youth whose soul thy yielding graces charm; Who bound, O! thraldom sweet! by beauty’s arm, In idle dalliance fondly sports with thee! Blest as the Gods! that iv’ry throne to see, Throbbing with transports, tender, timid, warm! While round thy fragrant lips zephyrs swarm! As op’ning buds attract the wand’ring Bee! Yet, short is youthful passion’s fervid hour; Soon, shall another clasp the beauteous boy; Soon, shall a rival prove, in that gay bow’r, The pleasing torture of excessive joy! The Bee flies sicken’d from the sweetest flow’r; The lightning’s shaft, but dazzles to destroy!
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