(George Gordon Byron)






To Woman


Woman! experience might have told me
That all must love thee, who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought;
But, placd in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.
Oh memory! thou choicest blessing,
When joind with hope, when still possessing;
But how much curst by every lover
When hope is fled, and passions over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse, when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope twill last for ay,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,
Woman, thy vows are tracd in sand.




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