As do the stars and Earth’s untroubled trees,
While seasons came, like birds, and went again,—
Though Greece and her green islands were no more,
And all her marbled glory should go down
Like flowers that die and fall, and one by one
Like lamps her lofty cities should go out.
Phaon
Your voice, like dew, falls deep in my dry heart,
And like a bell your name swings through my dreams;
Now all my being throbs and cries for you;