O CRUEL Love! on thee I lay
My curse, which shall strike blind the day:
Never may sleep with velvet hand
Charm thine eyes with sacred wand;
Thy jailers shall be hopes and fears,
Thy prison-mates, groans, sighs and tears;
Thy play, to wear out weary times,
Fantastic passions, vows, and rimes;
Thy bread be frowns, thy drink be gall,
Such as when you Phao call,
The bed thou liest on by despair;
Thy sleep, fond dreams; thy dreams, long care;
Hope (like thy fool) at thy bed's head,
Mocks thee, till madness strike thee dead;
As Phao, thou doest me, with thy proud eyes,
In thee poor Sapho lives, for thee she dies.