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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?



Mary Robinson's other poems:
  1. Sonnet 13. Bring, Brick to Deck My Brow
  2. Ode to Valour
  3. Sonnet 9. Ye, Who in Alleys Green
  4. Sonnet 35. What Means the Mist
  5. The Confessor, a Sanctified Tale


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