Would that my soul might share a part
Of perfect bliss with thee!
O, dark-eyed Smyrniote of my heart,
My wronged Euphrosynè!
CYMINDIS.
Ορνιθι λιγυρη εναλιγκιος, ην τ’ εν ορεσσι
Χαλκιδα κικλησκουσι Θεοι, ανδρες δε Κυμινδιν.—Homer.
Beside my lattice cool at dead of night,
As I sat musing on unnumbered things,