And yet I would not chide thee, Phaon. No!
But I would wake thee to a sense of wo,
And all the misery that thou hast wrought,
And why a home beneath the waves I sought,
When thou wast far away: may peace be thine!
The gods preserve thee from a fate like mine!
The quick and fevered pulse, the tears that blind,
The heart’s dark void, the canker of the mind;
And if to ’parted spirits power be given,
To leave the high abode they hold in heaven,