Maid of Athens, ere we part,

Give, oh give me back my heart !

Or, since that has left my breast,

Keep it now, and take the rest !

Hear my vow before I go,

By those tresses unconfined,

Woo’d by each Ægean wind;

By those lids whose jetty fringe

Kiss thy soft cheeks’ blooming tinge;

By those wild eyes like the roe,

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,

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 !