Ah, what detains thee, Phaon,
1
Where now thy restless lover
A fever burns me, Phaon;
5
My knees quake on the threshold,
And all my strength is loosened,
Slack with disappointment.
But thou wilt come, my Phaon,
9
Back from the sea like morning,
To quench in golden gladness
The ache of parted lovers.