Text: Edgar Allan Poe, “To Zante” (Text-07), “Graham” manuscript, summer 1849, p. 7


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[page 7, continued:]

Sonnet to Zante

Fair isle that, from the fairest of all flowers,

Thy gentlest of all gentle names cost take!

How many memories of what radiant hours

At sight of thee and shine 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-enamelled shore,

O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!

Isola d’oro! Fior di Levante!

 


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Notes:

This version of the poem is part of the manuscript of “A Reviewer Reviewed


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[S:0 - MS, 1849] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Poems - To Zante [Text-07]