To Zante by Edgar Allan Poe

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Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers, / Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!

How many memories of what radiant hours / At sight of thee and thine at once awake!

How many scenes of what departed bliss!

How many thoughts of what entombèd 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! Accursèd ground / Henceforward I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, / O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!

"Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante! "

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