Yet once, ah once! forgetful of the world, You lay engirdled by this world of mine, Those nights remain, be earth to darkness hurled, Deathless, as passion's ecstasy divine. My songs around you were the only birds, My voice the only music, in your fire With kisses, burning yet, you killed my words And found my kisses sweeter than desire. I filled you with delight, when close embraced; In the last act of love I gave you heaven, And yet again, delirious as we faced, And yet again, till in exhaustion, even Love's self half died and nothing more remained, But earth and life half lost, and heaven gained. And now, Sicilian girls--O heart of mine, Why was I born so far from Sicily?-- Sicilian girls, unto my words incline, Beware of smiles, of insincerity, Beware the words that once belonged to me, The fruits of passion and the seeds of grief; O Cyprian by the fair Sicilian sea, Sappho now calls thee, turn to her relief! Shall Fortune still pursue me, luckless one, With hounds of woe pursue me down the years? Sorrow was mine since first I saw the sun, The ashes of my parents knew my tears. My brother cast the gifts of life away For one unworthy of all gifts but gold, Grief follows grief and on this woeful day An infant daughter in my arms I hold. Fates! What more can ye do, what more essay? Phaon! ah yes, he is the last, I know. The first, the all, the grave that once was gay, The dark veil o'er my purple robe ye throw, My curls no more are curls, nor scent the air With perfume from the flowers Egyptians grow, The gold that bound these locks of mine so fair Has parted for the wind these locks to blow. All arts of love were mine when he was by, Whose sun is now the sun of Sicily. Phaon! when I was born, the mystic three Called Aphrodite on my birth to gaze, And then the Cyprian, turning, called on thee To be my fate and fill my dreams and days. Thou for whose sake Aurora's eyes might turn From Cephalus, or Cynthia give thee sleep, Pouring oblivion from night's marble urn, Bidding Endymion to watch thy sheep! --Lo! as I write I weep, and nought appears But Love, half veiled by broken words and tears. You! you! who left me without kiss or tear Or word, to murmur softly like a child Begotten of thy voice, deception were Less cruel far than silence, you who smiled Falsely so often, had you no false phrase-- You who so often had false tales to tell-- No voice there, at the parting of our ways, To say "Farewell, O Love!" or just "Farewell"!