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To Zante | Poems by Edgar Allan Poe · Ririro.com - Poetry

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  Speaker 1: Fer Isle, that from the fairest of all flowers, thy
• 0:04
  Speaker 1: gentlest of all gentle names, dost take. How many memories
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  Speaker 1: of what radiant hours at sight of thee and thine
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  Speaker 1: at once awake, How many scenes of what departed bliss,
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  Speaker 1: How many thoughts of what entombed hopes? How many visions
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  Speaker 1: of a maiden that is no more, no more upon
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  Speaker 1: thy verdant slopes, no more alas that magical sad sound
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  Speaker 1: transforming all thy charm shall please no more thy memory,
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  Speaker 1: no more a cursed ground. Henceforth I hold thy flowery
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  Speaker 1: enamel'd shore o Hyacinthine isle o purple zante isoa de're
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  Speaker 1: fior di Levante, eighteen thirty seven