Here you will find thePoemMyrtisof poet Walter Savage Landor
Friends, whom she lookt at blandly from her couch And her white wrist above it, gem-bedewed, Were arguing with Pentheusa: she had heard Report of Creon's death, whom years before She listened to, well-pleas'd; and sighs arose; For sighs full often fondle with reproofs And will be fondled by them. When I came After the rest to visit her, she said, 'Myrtis! how kind! Who better knows than thou The pangs of love? and my first love was he!' Tell me (if ever, Eros! are reveal'd Thy secrets to the earth) have they been true To any love who speak about the first? What! shall these holier lights, like twinkling stars In the few hours assign'd them, change their place, And, when comes ampler splendour, disappear? Idler I am, and pardon, not reply, Implore from thee, thus questioned; well I know Thou strikest, like Olympian Jove, but once.
