Edgar Allan Poe

To Zante

Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
   ⁠Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!
How many memories of what radiant hours
⁠   At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
How many scenes of what departed bliss!
⁠   How many thoughts of what entombéd hopes!
How many visions of a maiden that is
⁠   No more—no more upon thy verdant slopes!
No more! alas, that magical sad sound
⁠   Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more—
Thy memory no more! Accurséd ground
   ⁠Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore,
O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!
⁠   "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!"