Sonnet XXIX: Farewell, Ye Tow'ring Cedars
Farewell, ye tow'ring Cedars, in whose shade,Lull'd by the Nightingale, I sunk to rest,While spicy breezes hover'd o'er my breastTo fan my cheek, in deep'ning tints array'd;While am'rous insects, humming round me, play'd,Each flow'r forsook, of prouder sweets in quest;Of glowing lips, in humid fragrance drest,That mock'd the Sunny Hybla's vaunted aid!Farewell, ye limpid rivers! Oh! farewell!No more shall Sappho to your grots repair;No more your white waves to her bosom swell,Or your dank weeds, entwine her floating hair;As erst, when Venus in her sparry cellWept, to behold a brighter goddess there!
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