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11/26/2009 2:53:55 PM
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Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh, give back my heart! Or, since that has left my breast, Keep it now, and take the rest! Hear my vow before I go, Zoë mou sas agapo. By those tresses unconfined, Wooed by each Aegean wind; By those lids whose jetty fringe Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge; By those wild eyes like the roe, Zoë mou sas agapo. By that lip I long to taste; By that zone-encircled waist; By all the token-flowers that tell What words can never speak so well; By love's alternate joy and woe, Zoë mou sas agapo. Maid of Athens! I am gone: Think of me, sweet! when alone. Though I fly to Istambol, Athens holds my heart and soul: Can I cease to love thee? No! Zoë mou sas agapo. George Gordon Byron
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