Explore "Ah, what detains thee, Phaon" by Bliss Carman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Ah, what detains thee, Phaon, / So long from Mitylene, / Where now thy restless lover / Wearies for thy coming?
A fever burns me, Phaon; / My knees quake on the threshold, / And all my strength is loosened, / Slack with disappointment.
But thou wilt come, my Phaon, / Back from the sea like morning, / To quench in golden gladness / The ache of parted lovers.