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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=455681" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XVIII: Why Art Thou Chang'd?</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=455681" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Why art thou chang'd? O Phaon! tell me why?<br>Love flies reproach, when passion feels decay;<br>Or, I would paint the raptures of that day,<br>When, in sweet converse, mingling sigh with sigh,<br>I mark'd the graceful languor of thine eye<br>As on a shady bank entranc'd we lay:<br>O! Eyes! whose beamy radiance stole away<br>As stars fade trembling from the burning sky!<br>Why art thou chang'd? dear source of all my woes!<br>Though dark my bosom's tint, through ev'ry vein<br>A ruby tide of purest lustre flows,<br>Warm'd by thy love, or chill'd by thy disdain;<br>And yet no bliss this sensate Being knows;<br>Ah! why is rapture so allied to pain?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Mary+Darby+Robinson">Mary Darby Robinson</a></strong></div>

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