Yes—I was envied—hath some god above
Crush’d me? or magic herb that severs love,
Gather’d on Caucasus, bewitch’d my flame?
Nymphs change by distance; I’m no more the same.
Oh, what a love has fleeted like the wind,
And left no vestige of its trace behind!
Now sad I count the ling’ring nights alone;
And my own ears are startled by my groan.
Happy! the youth who weeps, his mistress nigh;
Love with such tears has mingled ecstasy: