Sonnet LXXXVIII

OH! for imperial Polydamna's art,Which to bright Helen was in Egypt taught,To mix with magic power the oblivious draughtOf force to staunch the bleeding of the heart,And to Care's wan and hollow cheek impartThe smile of happy youth, uncursed with thought.Potent indeed the charm that could appeaseAffection's ceaseless anguish, doom'd to weepO'er the cold grave; or yield even transient easeBy soothing busy Memory to sleep!—Around me those who surely must have triedSome charm of equal power, I daily see,But still to me Oblivion is denied,There's no Nepenthe, now, on earth for me.