Edgar Allan Poe

To Zante

      Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
        Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!
      How many memories of what radiant hours
        At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
      How many scenes of what departed bliss!
        How many thoughts of what entombed hopes!
      How many visions of a maiden that is
        No more- no more upon thy verdant slopes!
      No more! alas, that magical sad sound
        Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more-
      Thy memory no more! Accursed ground
        Henceforth I hold thy flower-enameled shore,
      O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!
        "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!"

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