O Lesbian! if thy faith were mine,
Then might I in that summer sea
Seek for a slumber sound as thine,
Beneath thy rock of Leucady.
But though the waves, with death's control,
Might still the fever in each vein,
Alas! they cannot drown my soul,
The citadel of all my pain.
This weary, wretched, restless strife
I cannot bear—I cannot flee;—
'Tis more than death—'tis all of life—
And parcel of Eternity.
